


let the flames begin

by onemilliongoldstars



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, and i like fantasy aus, aso feelings plus conflict plus tension, basically i just needed dragon rider lexa in my life, like a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-10 09:23:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 88,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4386467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onemilliongoldstars/pseuds/onemilliongoldstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forced from her home in the east into the slave markets of the Sky People, Lexa fights to hide her true identity and plots her people's vengence even as she becomes increasingly tangled in the rebellious plans of Clarke Griffin.</p><p>or</p><p>Lexa is a dragon rider who thirsts for fire and blood until she meets the cool blue eyes of her mistress's daughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. burn it to the ground

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in the works for a good while. I hope you like it, thanks and love to Sarah (@indragram) for beta'ing and generally freaking out with me.

Fire and blood.

It beats in her heart, a hot energy coursing through her veins with every thump that roars through her ears like the tides of the sea. She can feel it calling to her, hot and deadly and screaming and yet she refuses to move, refuses to reach for the feeling as her body begs her to do. Instead she coils herself tighter, wraps her body in a ball and clings to the hard press of wet, warped boards beneath her legs, of soaked hair sticking to her forehead and neck and the pound of waves crashing against the hull of the ship.

She is trembling. Her body convulses with shudders that feel as if they may rip her apart and yet she remains, grits her teeth.

She is iron and stone; immovable.

Eventually, after what feels like an age, the trembling recedes, ever so slowly like the pull of the waves back into the sea after a high tide and her exhausted muscles fall slack. She slides forwards, pressing her cheek against the floor as it rocks soothingly beneath her and for a moment all feels silent and still, at least when compared to how it had been, before a hand touches her cheek softly.

Bleary eyes peel open, pricking with pain as she stares up through the dank hull to where Anya crouches in front of her. Behind her the rest of her clan watch, uncertain and worried, watching their  Heda as she struggles to push herself up.

"Rest,  Heda ." Anya tells her, quietly but she ignores the woman's warnings, struggling until she can press herself against the hull, at least sitting upright. "The separation was painful," Anya observes and Lexa is grateful that there is no trace of sympathy in her voice.

She only nods once, eyes squinting as she peers around at the anxious faces. "It was bearable." She corrects the woman after a few moments and Anya frowns, but nods.

"They were screaming for you." She speaks the words but they are redundant.

Lexa knows that they were screaming. She can still hear them in her head.

"How long have I been incapacitated?" There is no light but the watery daylight peeking in through the cracks in the hull and the ceiling, no true way to tell what time of day it is.

"Several hours at least," Anya is fidgeting and Lexa knows that she is barely hanging onto her sanity. Anya has always done badly with restrictions, the leaning, enclosed space of the hull is sure to make her anxious. "You were barely coherent when they threw you down here. We thought you had escaped."

"It appears not." Her eyes flicker up to the ceiling. They can hear the shouts of men from above, foreign words being tossed carelessly across the deck and the pounding of feet, busy sailors at work. "Do they know who I am?"

"It does not seem so. Surely they would have made something of it if they had."

"Good," she clenches her jaw, shutting her eyes for a moment to rub at her forehead, trying to think through the pounding of her head. When she speaks again her eyes flicker open and she raises her voice enough to carry to her people, pushed together like cattle in the underbelly of the ship. "These invaders are stronger than those we have known before, but many of our own remain in our lands and the other eleven clans are sworn to us. They will find us and when they do, we will burn these foreigners. Until then, however, preserve your lives. We learn their secrets, find their weaknesses and then, my people I promise you blood will have blood.  Jus drein jus daun ."

There is a quiet rumble of agreement and she slumps back when most eyes turn away from her, allowing herself a moment to assess her own body.

"Are you harmed, Lexa?"

"It is not life threatening," she tells Anya, quietly. "My head was struck and the  keyron faya was... taxing."

"I am not surprised, even I felt Tyr's fury, through Joro."

Her eyes shoot up to meet Anya's, widening in surprise. "They are together?"

"For them, perhaps. For us they could be leagues apart."

She nods, bending her head and sucking a breath in, steadying her pounding heart. "I cannot feel them now. It is strange."

"Neither can I." Anya admits, letting out a soft sigh. "It is unnerving to be without their presence after so long."

"Very," Lexa agrees and a silence settles between them, heavy and still until a thump and a shout from above deck jerks Lexa from the half slumber her exhausted body had slipped into. "The people above, I saw no recognisable colours when they attacked, did you?"

"Yes," her face is set grimly, eyes flashing like steel in the flames. "I have only heard tales of them. They call them the  skaikru because they descended from mountains so high the clouds pulled them into their embrace. They came to the land with fury and power and have been taking clans wherever they can; they are a new people, fresh to their land and eager for glory."

"They do not respect the old ways." Lexa grinds her teeth, rage rushing through her, "They know not of our alliance, or of the ban on slavery that we have enforced for many a year and now they take  my people into the system that we have been crushing."

"They do not worship the old gods, either." Anya tells her, stonily. "They are heathens, sworn to some other entities."

"Then when the time comes we shall burn them to the ground." The words are quiet, reverent but they catch the attention of her people, who turn, murmuring softly, to look to her for guidance. When she raises her head to meet their stare, her eyes are alive with the flames of her fury. "They will pay.  Faya na rena ."

Fire will reign.

Deep in her soul, she feels the flicker of a response to her fury, a heat from far away and it warms her through.

\----

The shouts of men and the thunder of footsteps above betray their arrival at a new shore. Lexa sits with her legs beneath her, watching as her people shift uncertainly. Fear blossoms through them like the new buds of spring flowers and she speaks before it can swallow them whole, soothing their beating hearts with her words.

" Trigedakru ," she speaks in their native language, though most of her people know the languages of the west as well. "Be not afraid. Though these strangers may put us in chains and bark orders they know not what we are capable of. Be patient, trust in your  Heda and the power of the flames and we will be sustained." The ship comes to a jerking, shuddering stop and they are jostled, but Lexa speaks above the anxious voices. "Fear not. We will return from this outrage and then the deaths of those we have lost and the indecency of what has passed and will pass will be repaid, tenfold.  Jus drein, jus daun ."

" Heda ." The muttering comes in waves, tides rolling in on her from those watching, rush after rush of agreement and reverence and trust. She straightens her back, hoping their faith is not misplaced.

"Lexa," Anya tugs on her, bringing her closer and twisting her around. Her hands go up to her braids, untwisting the jewels and gold thread that remain there with quick, hurried fingers. "You must not be known for who you truly are."

"You are wise," Lexa nods, unclasping the armour that remains trapped to her small, lithe body, throwing her red sash into the corner of the hold as Anya disposes of her jewels. Lexa's fingers linger for a moment at the leather cuff around her wrist, the metal sigil that clings to it and runs her fingers along the ridges that make up the intricate design before pulling it away. Anya's eyes catch sight of it in the dim light and she presses her lips together, but nods once as Lexa pushes it through the cracks in the hull, a faint splash meeting her ears.

"It is safe from their forges now,  Heda ." Anya murmurs and she nods harshly, shrugging off her long coat to leave her in only a baggy singlet, long wraps running up her arms and between her fingers, and Anya reaches around her, tears a strip of cloth from her vest. "This marks you," she informs her, spitting into the coarse material and Lexa turns to assist her as Anya begins to scrub off the remainders of war paint on her cheeks and around her eyes.

"What about you?" She asks, suddenly, eyes widening when she realises that Anya is still clad in her own battle wear, hair intricately braided and cheeks stained with dark kohl. "You are obvious."

Anya meets her gaze in silence, scrubbing relentlessly at her face and understanding dawns on Lexa even as her brows crumple together furiously.

"No, Anya! You will not act as our leader."

"They can get nothing important from me,  Heda ." Anya speaks firmly, in a tone that Lexa recognises from her years on the training ground under the woman's instruction. "They will soon realise I am no more than a general, but by then you will have melted away into the crowd. You are too powerful, too filled with the  faya kom keyron to be found. You must survive."

"I would forbid this if I thought it would do any good." Her voice is harsh and angry, but she leans forward, taking Anya's chin in her hand and forcing the woman to meet her eyes. "But as it is I will command you, as your  Heda : do not get killed."

The echo of a smirk pulls at the corners of Anya's lips. "Yes,  Heda . Here," she ties her hair back with the dirty cloth and her hands drop to tangle their fingers together for a moment, her grip tightening as the hatch above them is hauled away, letting in a bright stream of light. "You are a serving girl."

"Yes,  Heda ." Her eyes dance with amusement for a second, before she sees the first of her people- a young woman named Lara, a seamstress not a warrior- be pulled up onto the deck, her hands bound in coarse rope. Her clenched jaw ticks and Anya must feel the twitch of her taut muscles because she squeezes at her fingers again, in warning.

They are some of the last to be hauled up onto deck. She ducks her head, allows the men to paw at her with heavy, dirty hands and rough laughter and presses the anger within her down until it is a solid ball, heavy and hard in the pit of her stomach.

Behind her, Anya struggles, growls and pushes and spits threats in the language of her people and at first the men laugh and jeer, until she swings a blow and sends one of them stumbling to the deck. They struggle, holding her still and she raises her voice, still speaking their language to address the  Trikru  stood on deck.

" People , listen to your  Heda . Do as she instructs you but do not reveal her secret or you shall answer to my hand."

"Protect the  Heda ." Furgus, one of her guards, echoes the words and it runs like a ripple through their ranks.

Lexa has to bite her tongue to stop from protesting, but her eyes narrow to daggers and shoot to Anya, warningly.

"Remember justice," she tells them, voice loud and booming. "Fire will come. Blood will have blood!"

" Jus drein, jus daun ." Lexa repeats softly, but those closest to her hear her and the phrase is passed back, spoken reverently like a prayer through their ranks even as they are pushed and shoved down an unsteady board and onto dry land. It is only at that moment that Lexa allows herself to inspect the land which she now finds herself on, with nothing to protect her people but her wit.

There are mountains to the north, as Anya had reported, but to the south and west it seems to be flat plain land, lush grass and fields of crops, animals grazing freely. The village of the  Skaikru is large - almost as large as her own - and she has to admire the fortitude of such a new people. Their longhouses stand firm and tall, high on the hill where their leaders may watch for any invaders. Their land is free from the forests that run through her own, providing little shelter but plenty of space. With their vulnerability comes a certain power, a clear knowledge of the land that her people cannot gain with such dense woodland.

Small huts and homes litter the land around the longhouses on the hill, with smoke puffing from their chimneys and children running and shrieking. Their woman stand to watch, but they are dressed strangely. The clothes of the men who had attacked her village and now herd her people into a cluster on the muddy grass close to the sea are familiar; the clothes of warriors and workers. The women here, however, wear long skirts, heavy material that is neither practical nor comfortable and she frowns at the sight of it. Even when her people are not warriors they wear clothing that is appropriate, clothing they can work and run in, but these long skirts make little sense to her, the strange pretence of modesty confusing.

She is yanked forward by her shirt and stumbles, unable to balance with her hands bound so tightly behind her back. The sharp prick of a spear prods and pokes her in the back and she is shoved into line with the rest of her people, falling in beside Greta, Anya's friend and a wise council to her in times past.

"They will sell us to the highest bidder,  Heda ," she says in fast, low Trigedasleng. "We are nought but cattle to them."

"Their time will come," she promises quietly, but a sharp blow to her head and the grunt of one of the sailors behind her warns her into silence. She sees Greta jolts out of habit, jerking towards her but their eyes meet and Lexa's flash with enough caution to halt her movements.

Anya is pushed from the line, forced forward towards where several horses are waiting and her eyes dart back to meet Lexa's. Lexa feels a tug, a flash of despair as the woman is tied to the back of the horse, forced to rush when the rider sets off at a steady trot and she watches, seething silently, as her mentor is led away into the distance, eyeing her figure until it is hidden by the village.

They are being sorted by the slavers, she realises when she tears her eyes from Anya. Weak from strong, young from old, men from women. Most of her best warriors, her guards, and her mentors are pushed into a group together and Lexa wonders if their captors know what a poor decision it is to place the angriest of her people, the most furious, into a combined force. She is inspected for a moment, the large man before her peering at her arms and legs thoughtfully and she takes the opportunity to examine him in return. He is paler than her people and his hair is shorn short, though his clothing bears a resemblance to her own. Brown eyes dart over her body and his hands are calloused when his fingers come to press against her chin, forcing her mouth open to peer inside, but when his other hand slips down her body to brush roughly over her breasts she snarls and her mouth snaps shut, teeth digging into his fingers.

He shouts out his surprise and alarm, pulling away from her with a yell and the man beside him- sword slung at his waist, eyes hard as steel- steps past the man to hit her angrily in the face. Copper soaks her tongue and she can't resist spitting the blood at him, the gaze of her people resting solidly on her.

She receives another strike for her trouble, one that sends her stumbling backwards a pace, but it's worth it.

The first man grabs her by her arm, holding her steady and she recoils when he reaches for her again, but he holds his hand up to the man behind him.

"Stop." He instructs, harshly and the man steps back, glowering. "You have spirit." He observes, his gaze interested.

"Sir, she's a savage." One of the sailors is eyeing her with distaste and she narrows her eyes.

"No," the man still sounds intrigued, watching her closely. "No, they are all fighters but she is something more... intelligent, I think. And she speaks our language."

She jolts at the words, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise before she can school her expression and he laughs softly, nodding at her.

"That's right, you are not as sly as you think. You're far too responsive to not understand, how much of our language do you know?"

She hesitates, swallowing uncertainly as her eyes flicker between the man in front of her and the  Trigedakru , watching with baited breath for their leader to decide her course of action. "Enough." She answers at last and he nods, satisfied with her answer.

"She will be useful, send her to Jaha and make sure she is not put on some rudimentary task."

She is shoved forward, separated from her people and she watches in alarm as the final few are sorted. The man assigned to watch her reaches out to grab her by her tied hands, yanking her away from her people and it is with a heavy heart that she turns her back on them, trudging up through the village behind the stranger.

Here, in an alien land, surrounded by enemies, she has never felt younger. 

(She has never felt the weight of her duties more heavily.)

\----

Jaha, from what Lexa can gather, is the leader of the  Skaikru . She is brought into his household, led up the steep climb to the hill where the longhouses sit, and poked and prodded into one of their sturdy wooden structures, where a fire burns constantly to keep the vast room warm. A woman is stood by a table, slicing something with intent purpose and grinding it into a poultice, but she looks up when she hears intruders. Her eyes harden at the sight of Lexa and she stares at her unabashed, taking in the tangled locks of Lexa's dark hair and the tattoo that spirals up her forearm.

"Abby," the man says, putting a firm hand on her shoulder to keep her steady. "Kane said that this girl would be of use to Chancellor Jaha, I figured you should probably check her out before we hand her over."

"Use to Jaha?" Abby looks her over, clearly flummoxed, "why?"

"She speaks English, not many of them can. I guess that probably means she's got something going on up there."

"I see," Abby's eyes widen with understanding, brightening from suspicion to curiosity and she wipes her hands on the apron around her waist. Lexa is surprised to see, when she steps out from around the table, that she wears a long tunic, with trousers beneath and wide, sturdy boots caked in mud. "Give her to me, I'll have her cleaned up and I'll check for wounds. Wouldn't want Jaha to get damaged goods, right?"

Lexa bristles at the term, her jaw clenching and Abby looks at her as though she's amused by the show of passion.

"Come," it's the first time she's addressed Lexa and she nods her head to where material hangs, creating a partition from the main room where the fire burns. In the corner, Lexa realises with a jerk of surprise, stands a small girl slicing something on a low table. "I'll be back soon Fern," Abby calls to her and the girl looks up and smiles, nodding. She wears plain clothes, but not those of the  Skaikru and Lexa realises with a jolt that there is a heavy metal chain around her neck.

She makes her way through the gap in the material, as Abby indicates and finds herself, to her surprise, in a small bathing area. There is a copper tub in the corner, filled with water and Abby leaves her in the middle of the room, bringing a stool and a bundle of cloth closer to the tub before she beckons Lexa, who approaches warily.

Taking her bound hands, Abby pulls her dagger from the strap on her thigh and Lexa flinches, drawing automatically away from the blade.

"No," Abby warns, but her voice is softer, a promise, "don't fear, I'm not going to harm you." She slices through the ropes at Lexa's wrists and though she has only been bound for an hour or so, Lexa rubs at the marks the rope has left gratefully, glad to have her hands free at last.

"Now, take off your clothes and get in. It'll be cold I'm afraid, but beggars can't be choosers. I'll have Fern fetch you a kettle of hot water just to heat it up." She steps back around the curtain and Lexa takes the moment to hurriedly strip herself, leaving her own blood stained clothes on the floor. Exposed in such a way, she is in danger. Her body is a canvas filled with scars and swirling dark marks across her skin betray her true identity to any who can understand them. It will be a true test of the  Skaikru's understanding of her people.

The material shifts and she turns quickly, but sees only the small girl, Fern, heaving a kettle almost half her size. She reaches out and speaks in her own language automatically.

"Here, let me help you."

The girl blinks in surprise, staring at her with a mouth half opened in shock.  "Trigedasleng,"  she says and though her accent is strange and her words sometimes clipped, she speaks in a rusty version of Lexa's language. "You are from my land."

"You are  Trigedakru ." Lexa stares at her, stunned, "who are you child? How did you come to be here?"

"I was born here," the girl tips the water into the bath and steam hisses and rises high. "My mother is a slave, as am I. She taught me the language of our people."

"Your mother?" It makes no sense, Anya had described the sky people as new to this world, only a few generations and her people have never experienced these foreign slavers before.

"Yes," Fern eyes the material uncertainly, though they are still talking a foreign tongue, "you should get in, the mistress does not like to be kept waiting."

Lexa does as she is instructed, but continues to ask. "Are there many of our people here? When were they brought here?"

"They're caught by stray trading ships, my mother says they catch us when they stop for supplies, to make up their load." Fern explains, shifting closer to her nervously. "I have never-" Her breath catches, her words cutting off when Lexa leans forward to dunk her head in the water, already dirty with the grime from her skin. " Heda ."

She snaps upwards, eyes widening in surprise and she reaches out, her hand curling around a thin wrist to tug Fern closer. " How do you know that ?" She hisses and the girl indicates to the tattoos on her back, her eyes bright with excitement.

"You are the  Heda ! You are the rider, the  faya kom keyron ."

"You must not say," Lexa tells her hastily and the girl presses her lips together, nodding as the material flies open and Abby marches back in.

"Fern," she snaps, irritable, "what are you still doing here?"

"Nothing mistress, apologies." The small girl grabs her kettle, taking another few glances at Lexa before she slips away through the material.

"Stand," Abby tells her, sharply and Lexa raises herself slowly in the tub, the water trailing down her skin, over the crests and falls of her body as Abby steps forward. Her hands run smoothly, efficiently over Lexa's body and the touch feels like an invasion, the clinical detachment that the woman clearly holds for her making it almost worse. "What is your name?"

The words come as a surprise and she hesitates, before speaking slowly. "Lexa."

"And how have you learnt to speak English?" Abby's fingers find a shallow gash in her leg from the battle and she inspects it closely as she speaks.

"Many of my people know it," Lexa admits, openly. "I was the commander's... server. I assisted her and she taught me."

"Good," Abby looks up at her, nodding her head, momentarily pleased. "You will be used to the environment of a council then and I'm sure Jaha will want to ask you about your leader. It would be in your best interest to please him, he dislikes disloyalty."

"I am not loyal to him." The words escape her before she can consider them and Abby's eyes dart to her, sharp with warning.

"You are new to these parts, you will learn to adapt if you want to stay alive."

"How can you expect people you have captured to be loyal to you?"

Abby reaches down and slaps harshly on the tender skin behind her knee, making her stumble and almost fall into the water and heavy fingers wrap around her wrist, steadying her and drawing her attention.

"You learn." She tells her, a growl in her voice and Lexa falls into silence, biting her lip in an effort not to speak her mind.

Abby finishes her inspection quickly, moving to stand before her, "you are strong for your size, well kept." Her nose wrinkles a little as she eyes her skin, "though you are scarred and the ink on your skin will likely put off any future suitors... or buyers."

Lexa's eyes narrow, but she says nothing as Abby turns and steps towards the small table across the room, reaching for something which she carries close in her hands back towards Lexa, hiding it from view until she is close. It happens so quickly that Lexa can only flinch back, the side and slippery surface of the tub keeping her in place as Abby pulls her forward by the shoulder and clips the thin iron collar around her neck.

Lexa struggles away, hands going up to tug her fingers inside the cold loop but it is clasped tightly shut, resting against her skin with a heavy, stifling weight that makes her cheeks flame with anger, blood rushing through her ears as she heaves herself from the tub.

"This is barbaric! People are not animals to be traded and collared!"

"On the contrary, savages like yourself are no more than animals," Abby tells her calmly and she almost launches herself at the woman, pressing her hands into fists so tightly that her nails bite into the tender skin of her palms.

"We  savages have survived for many generations on this earth, unlike you who crawled down from the sky and carved it up to take for yourself."

"And yet who of us is collared?" Abby snaps in return and bends, collecting a pile of clothes in her hands to push the coarse material into Lexa's grip, "You will wear these." She turns her back, pausing only at the entrance to the small wash room to turn and say, eyes burning with anger. "Such talk will not be accepted in the future. This was your one and only opportunity for such behaviour."

Her heart thumps with fury and her cheeks and neck are flaming with hatred, but the metal around her neck feels like ice, frozen solid and heavy, catching and pinning her to the ground.

\----

Chancellor Jaha questions her for hours on the nature of her people; their ways, their customs, their trading routes. He asks about things that she could only know as the commander and she plays dumb, fiddling with the loose thread on the rough, grey shirt she'd been given to wear. The trousers are reasonably acceptable, made of tanned leather and hardy, clearly meant to last her through any season and she had managed to salvage the strip of cloth Anya had tied in her hair no more than half a day ago. It's small, but it is a reminder of the woman, her mentor.

"Where is Anya?" She asks, when a lull comes to their questions and Jaha and the two men who accompany him turn to look at her, frowning.

"You were her server, correct?" Jaha leans back on the wide oak table that sits in his tent and eyes her curiously.

"I was the commander's server, yes." She answers, carefully and then repeats herself. "Where is Anya?"

"Anya is undergoing... more serious questioning than you." Jaha responds, standing to pace back across the room but Lexa catches sight of the slight smile on his face and her blood boils, hands tightening into fists where they rest on her thighs.

"You are monsters.  Ripa ." The words roll off her tongue on a growl and it is her final word that catches attention. When Jaha turns again his brows are pushed together, lips twisted in displeasure.

"You will not speak that language here, understand?"

"Why?" It's a clear challenge, thrown out into his face with the audacity of a commander.

Jaha's jaw tightens, but he holds up a hand when one of the men paces towards her. "Because you are not to speak a language that we don't understand."

"So learn," she retorts, raising an eyebrow, "If you are to steal so many of my people you should learn our tongue."

This time it is Jaha who swings forward, his hand colliding with her face and sending her head reeling, whipping it to the side. "Learn some manners, girl and you will be useful." He looks down at her with a curled lip, shaking his head. "Until then you're nothing to me." His eyes dart back to one of the men and he nods in Lexa's direction, missing the way that her gaze follows his every movement. "Take her back to Abby. Tell her I have no use for such insolence."

"I don't think she will either, Chancellor." The amused voice of his guard is grating to her ears as the man steps forward to usher her from her seat.

"Well it's her problem, now."

The word bounces through her head even as she is escorted from the long, warm hut and out into the cool air again.

It. It. It.

She will burn this village to the ground.

\----


	2. the never ending fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for your support! Love to @indragram for being the cutest lil asshole.

The heavy, rough rope of the wooden bucket bites into her fingers as she walks, but she would gladly carry it forever to never have to step foot in Abby's longhouse again.

The woman was unhappy to see her returned, as Jaha had predicted, but had put her to work regardless, shoving the utensil into her hands and leaving her with sharp instructions on how to get to the well, and that she should return with a full bucket, or else she might as well not return at all, so dire would be the consequences.

The air is fresh outside, despite the smoke from the longhouses and though it smells nothing like home, it is more familiar than the heavy smell of hay and herbs that fills Abby's house. She feels exposed in this strange land, where the grasses are bare and the only shelter is the mountains that tower to the north. In her own lands there are plains, inhabited by the  Ridakru , those who live on the backs on their steeds, forming such a close bond that the creature would move without command beneath them. But Lexa has visited them many times and they would never build their villages in the middle of the open land in this way, so vulnerable to attackers.

Lexa shakes her head at the thought and resists the urge to spit. These people are young and fresh and foolish.

The well is easy to find and Lexa slips into line behind the other waiting surfs. They are silent and still, eyes flickering to her uncertainly and she doesn't recognise any of their faces so she stays quiet, waiting and watching. Though her eyes stay on the many huts and longhouses that make up the village, she sees none of her own people and it makes her stomach lurch nervously.

The filled bucket is much heavier and she heeds Abby's warning, taking her time to walk back through the village. Abby's home stands near the top of the crest of the hill and her feet are slippery in the slip shod shoes she had been given, so she takes care on the mud trodden walkways between the houses.

Only her careful steps and her slow pace allow her to hear the cries at all, any faster and she would have missed them completely, but as it is her ears perk and she pauses, the water sloshing slightly in the bucket as she listens. It comes again, a sharp cry for help but from a distance and when Lexa looks to the people passing her none seem to have heard it. The shriek sounds once more and she lets the bucket drop, taking off at a run to slide her way through the wet paths as the shouts get louder.

It is instinct that leads her to the small, deep pond that sits on the outskirts of the village and her eyes find the small boy floundering in the water, coughing and thrashing and reaching uselessly for weeds and branches. She is used to caring for people, to thinking of the needs of her people and this gesture, as small as it may be, is the only thing familiar that she has encountered since she arrived on this shore, so she dives into the pond without a second thought, scooping the boy into her arms. He is heavy and squirms in her grip, gasping for air and one of his small feet kick at her stomach so hard that she is momentarily winded, trying to keep him above water as she herself gasps and sinks, unable to control her body.

Only when strong, firm hands grasp her arms is she hauled to the surface and she feels the boy be pulled from her grip, up into the air as the fingers around her arm tighten and pull harder. She latches onto the arm, allowing her to be dragged to the edge of the pond and clambering up into the grass, bending over to cough and splutter. The hands that had pulled her out go to thump her back, helping her dispel the water from her system and she blinks, rubbing at her stinging eyes to turn and peer up at the figure hovering uncertainly above her.

"Oh thank god," the figure lets out a relieved laugh, high and feminine, "I thought you'd drowned for a horrible second."

Lexa opens her mouth to answer but is cut off by rasping, harsh coughs that rack her body. More water spills from her mouth and she wonders, as she is knelt in the damp, muddy grass, her hair plastered to her face as she gasps for breath, if this is what it feels like to be a fish, drowning in the air when plucked from the water.

"The boy?" She manages, finally, body still shuddering and the soothing hand rubs circles on her back.

"Bellamy's got him, don't worry."

She turns again at the words, sitting up to look at the girl crouched in the mud beside her, smiling at her expectantly. She has dark hair and bright eyes and her clothes are dark leather and fur. Strapped to her hip is a small dagger and Lexa feels a twinge of sadness for the loss of her own dagger, the one Anya had gifted her when she first became  Heda .

"How are you doing?" The girl's words are soft and she is so open, her smile as clear as water running through a brook.

"Better, thank you." Her eyes wander over to where a man stands, watching them from a few paces away. He has the little boy in his arms and though the child is shaking and crying, he seems well enough. Lexa is tempted to fall back into the grass and close her eyes, she's so exhausted and chilled, but the girl stands and holds out a hand to her.

"You alright to stand?"

Lexa takes the offered hand and gets slowly to her feet, picking unhappily at the cold, wet clothes that drip with water and hang heavily off her frame. Abby will surely be furious and she doubts the woman will give her another set of clothes to wear.

"Yeah," the girl puts her hands on her hips and laughs, though not unkindly, "you look kind of like a drowned rat." Lexa's eyes narrow, darting to her irritably and the girl laughs again, "a heroic rat," she assures her easily and Lexa has to smile, nodding and letting her eyes fall to her feet, where only one shoe has managed to stay clung to her feet.

She sighs softly and the hand on the small of her back, pushing her forward, jolts her into moving.

"Octavia," the man approaches them, falling into step beside Octavia and eyeing the dark metal around Lexa's neck, the thing that marks her out as  other , different and below them. "She's-"

"I know what she  is , Bellamy," Octavia snaps before he can finish and Lexa feels her insides twist, her stomach churning as if she is going to vomit. It seems that she has at least become a person, but nothing more than a figure to be pushed into the shadows, or so it seems. "She's a hero." Octavia finishes, easily and the surprised noise that leaves Lexa's mouth is almost embarrassing.

Bellamy seems unimpressed, but he just shrugs, rolling his eyes a little. "Fine, we'll walk her back." Her addresses Lexa for the first time since laying eyes on her and she's grateful that he at least meets her gaze. "Who is your master?"

"Abby," is all she can say, gesturing uselessly up towards the hill and Bellamy's eyes widen as Octavia cocks her head, smiling.

"Perfect, we have to take the boy up to Abby to be checked out anyway." She reaches over to nudge Bellamy, smiling cheekily at him. "It's almost as if it were fate."

Bellamy sighs heavily and says, in a way that feels almost exhausted, "There's no such thing as fate, Octavia."

"You're such a  bore , Bell," she rolls her eyes and then cuts her gaze over to Lexa as they walk, "Bellamy's my older brother. You can tell which of us got the  fun genes."

"Yeah, too much fun." Bellamy grumbles, but there's laughter in his eyes as he looks down at his little sister and Lexa feels a wisp of mirth shift through her, pushing her lips up just the slightest before sadness crashes through her veins again, cooling them like ice when her thoughts turn to the families of her people, siblings who have been torn from each other.

She turns her eyes back to her feet, pausing for a moment to slide off her one remaining shoe. She feels rather foolish walking with one bare foot, but her toes squish between the cold, wet mud and she feels herself shiver, wrapping her arms around her body as the cool wind raises goosebumps over her already chilled skin.

Octavia's brows crease, "hey, you okay? You want my jacket?" She starts to shift the garment off her shoulders, but Lexa shakes her head quickly.

"Uh, no." It feels jarring and wrong to accept help from such people, even as she begins to tremble and she hunches her shoulders, quickening her steps just a little in hopes of escaping the tendrils of cold wind, cutting through Octavia's stare which is hot on her neck.

Octavia keeps up with her easily, however, "so I haven't seen you around before, are you new? I thought I knew all of Abby's, um..." she trails off, uncertainly and Lexa almost snorts.

Surely people capable of such abhorrent acts should be able to voice them.

"No, I only arrived today."

"Oh," Octavia's eyes widen in realisation, " Oh . You were on the ship that came in."

"I was," she can't bite her tongue any longer, the girl makes it too easy to continue, too easy to speak her mind. "As were almost 100 of my people."

"Right," Octavia breaks off into uncomfortable silence, and Bellamy shoots Lexa a glare.

"Watch yourself," He warns lowly, and she resists the urge to spit insults his way, casting her eyes back to the ground instead as they begin to climb up the hill. It's starting to rain, the clouds darkening above them and letting small, cold droplets fall. Yet Lexa wishes that she could linger, could stand in the rain and turn her face to it, let it wash away the memories of the day that have been scorched within her skin; anything to avoid stepping back into the longhouse, which will surely be consumed by Abby's ire at her reappearance.

"No," Octavia's voice is low and solemn and when Lexa glances at her, she meets her gaze steadily. "No, we should talk about it. It isn't fair and we can't just pretend like it doesn't exist. It's your life now. Your  people’s lives."

Admiration sparks in her centre, somewhere close to her heart and, while she doesn't smile, she thinks that from the way the girl's eyes soften, her dipped chin- her acknowledgement- means more to Octavia.

"Careful O," Bellamy cautions her softly, though his conviction is lacking. "This is our way of life, Jaha wouldn't like to hear you talking like that."

"Well maybe Jaha's wrong." Octavia bites back, and though her eyes are now fixed to her brother, Lexa smiles, ducking her head to let wet hair swing forward and cover her face.

Bellamy glares at her, but as they approach Abby's longhouse he keeps his mouth shut, pressing open the door with the hand that isn't holding the boy close to him. It is dim inside, though there are candles lit on most of the surfaces and the big fire crackles and jumps on the far wall, casting long dark shadows. Abby is stood over a table, slicing through strips of cloth to make bandages, but she looks up at their entrance, eyes widening at the sight of them.

"Bellamy," she abandons her work, hurrying in their direction, arms reaching out to take the shivering, whimpering boy from his arms. She holds him at her hip expertly, brushing back the wet hair from his forehead and it is strange to see the woman who had treated her so poorly be so maternal and gentle. "What happened?"

"He almost drowned," Bellamy explains, stepping further in and letting the door swing shut behind him.

"God, the poor thing." She bounces him, as one would a wailing baby and he snuggles into the crook of her neck, finding comfort where he can. "He's the Miller's youngest boy, isn't he? Your friend Nathan's brother?"

"That's him." Bellamy reaches out to ruffle the boy's hair and Lexa watches from the shadows, her eyes narrowing when the little boy giggles reluctantly.

"Fern," Abby beckons the girl closer and while Fern's eyes flicker to Lexa uncertainly, she makes no other sign of seeing her, coming obediently to Abby's side and taking the Millar boy when he is passed into her arms. "Get him furs and hot stew, keep him near the fire. I'll send someone to inform his mother and father." Her eyes crease together, somewhere between irritation and confusion and they dance back, widening when they fix on Lexa. "You!" She reaches out to grab at Lexa's forearm and jerk her forwards from where she is lingering behind Octavia. "I sent you out for water an age ago and you return empty handed and  sodden ?"

Lexa tries to pull herself away, bristling at the tight hold that Abby has on her arm but presses her lips together wordlessly. She refuses to explain herself to such a woman, refuses to be questioned by her and it is only when Abby snarls at her silence that Octavia steps hurriedly in.

"No, Abby! She saved the boy, heard him shouting and jumped in after him. She almost went under herself trying to help him." Her hand settles on Lexa's shoulder and Lexa resists the urge to tear away. She feels like nothing more than a piece of meat, hands groping at her and it sends disgust rippling through her like a pebble breaking the still surface of a mill pond.

"Oh," Abby's fingers uncurl, much to her relief and she looks at her suspiciously. "Is this true?"

Lexa nods, but keeps her eyes settled sullenly on her feet. Her hatred for Abby bubbles deep inside of her, hot and angry and it is everything she can do to stop it boiling over, spilling over everything around her and melting into the ground.

She hears Abby let out a long sigh, heavy and tired above her and then the woman continues, "Fine, go to the hay loft and find a change of clothing. It's kept in the bag in the corner. Be quick about it and then come back down, immediately."

Lexa doesn't respond, turning on her heel to march away across the longhouse, but from behind her she hears Abby's exasperated sigh and her voice when she speaks again.

"Excuse her, she's new and not fully broken in."

The words make her step falter, her spine stiffening and her fingers tightening into furious fists, but from her place close by the fire, Fern looks up in alarm, reaching out to brush her fingers over the back of Lexa's hand as if she means to grab her, before thinking better of touching so presumptuously at her Heda. Still, it diverts Lexa's attention long enough for the girl to whisper, in hasty Trigedasleng.

" No , Heda. It isn't worth it."

"She speaks as if we are stallions to be broken and used as she pleases." Lexa's voice is louder, sharper and Fern cringes a little, shoulder hunching fearfully.

"Please, they'll hear." Wide eyes dart nervously to the others in the room and Lexa feels a rush of grief. In Fern she sees every Trigedakru child in her village, playing in the streets of Polis and splashing in the cool rivers and brooks of the forests. And yet every word of Fern's is laced with fear, the emotion is wrapped around her like a coil, pulling her tight in an ever constant reminder.

Lexa presses her lips together, holding back her angry retort and her attention is diverted when the Miller boy turns to peer up at her, reaching a hand up. She holds out her own hand, catching his fingers and squeezing softly when he beams happily at her. He shifts himself, small fingers curling and grabbing demandingly, holding his arms out for her to pick him up, but Abby's voice raps out across the longhouse like a whip.

"Lexa leave the boy alone and do as you are  told . Fern! You know better than this!"

Lexa bristles again and this time she can't control herself, turning to snap in hot, formal English. "The boy reached for  me . And leave Fern out of this."

Abby flushes furiously, red creeping up her neck and into her cheeks and she takes a half step towards them, glowering. "I will  not say this again. You should consider yourself lucky, most would throw you out into the night to freeze, you are more trouble than you are worth. Now  get upstairs , you worthless child."

Lexa's breath catches in her throat in her fury, and she turns before she can say something that she will regret. She had made her people swear to live, to make it through this ordeal and she must steal herself and do the same, but her proud, hard heart is sore with anger as she marches into the more shadowy portions of the longhouse.

She collides with a figure, her shoulder bumping into theirs in the darkness and she flinches back, face twisting in a furious glower. In the dark her eyes catch blonde hair and a startled expression, large blue eyes staring at her in surprise, but she doesn't pause, her pace pushing her past the girl, anger forcing her onwards without a second glance.

\----

When she climbs slowly down the ladder from the hayloft, it is in fresh, warm clothes, her own left draped over the wooden floor to dry. She has taken the time to pull her hair back into a simple braid, the wet strands dripping water down her back and the strip of cloth Anya had given her is tied around her wrist, secure and sturdy.

Abby is waiting close to the fire when she emerges from the shadows and raises an eyebrow at the sight of her, but otherwise makes no comment on her appearance. Instead she gestures to the fire and the pile of pots beside it. "Stay here and keep the fire stocked and burning well, polish the brasses while you wait. I will have to return the boy to his home as you seem to be incapable of doing anything correctly."

The harsh words fall short and Lexa nods, hiding her smile at the thought of warming by the fire for a time and she steps closer to the flames, pulling a stick from the wood pile close by to poke and prod at the embers, laying a few more logs to tempt it skilfully back to its former glory. The heat is nice against her skin and when a log falls and crackles, spitting out embers that land on the bare skin of her arms, she feels nothing but a sense of familiarity, an almost nostalgic feeling.

Positioning herself close to the heat, she draws the pots into her lap to begin rubbing them with a cloth as they slowly brighten to a shine in the light of the fire. It is strangely satisfying work and she scrubs in silence for a while, watching the metal turn from a dull orange to a vivid, burning amber, until figures shift closer to her and her eyes flicker up automatically.

Octavia and Bellamy Blake are still here and now sitting across from her on luxurious piles of fur, lounging near the fire to soak up the warmth and talk idly, though she feels Octavia's gaze on her as she works, her head bowed studiously in an attempt to ignore them. Another person approaches and she realises with a jolt of recognition that it is the blonde girl from earlier. She leans down to pass them both metal cups filled with something sweet smelling and for a moment Lexa wonders whether she too is a slave, until the girl falls into a heap beside Bellamy on one of the furs and leans into him, laughing softly when the boy pushes her away irritably.

Lexa watches the three surreptitiously from beneath her eyelashes. They talk and laugh as if they are old friends, knocking each other and referencing names that Lexa doesn't know. Upon closer inspection the blonde is around as far from a slave as possible. Both of the Blake siblings are dressed nicely, in leathers and hide with fur lined boots, but the girl with the golden hair wears a dyed blue leather, her jacket short and sharp and lined with a dark coat of some stray animal, and her pants are tight and flexible. Her boots lace high up her legs, halfway to her knees and there is a small dagger with a handle carved from bone at her hip.

"There's no way," Bellamy comments, rolling his eyes as the girls on either side of him hit at his arms, though he flinches from their strikes. "I'm telling you Clarke, you're wrong." he's talking to the blonde, addressing her with a tired sort of exhaustion, weary of this same fight. "There's no way Jasper and Maya are together."

"No she's right," Octavia cuts in before Clarke can defend herself and Lexa watches, her attention side tracked when Clarke grabs an apple from the large wooden table and brings out her dagger to slice expertly through it. "I saw them making out behind the corn stores."

"You're talking bullshit," Bellamy refutes but their attention is caught by a disgusted noise that leaves Clarke's throat.

"Oh god, look at how gross this is." She holds out her apple, and though Lexa can't see the issue from so far away, she knows it can't be too pleasant, because her companions wrinkle their noses and pull back.

"That is so rotten, don't eat it."

"Well of course I'm not going to eat it, Bellamy." Clarke rolls her eyes at the boy, casting her gaze to the ceiling and in that moment their eyes lock across the circle of warm firelight that engulfs them and she hesitates, blinking at Lexa in something close to surprise. Lexa holds her gaze, staring directly back at her and when she sees the girl's fingers tighten just slightly around the handle of her dagger she cocks her eyebrow, expectantly.

"You," Clarke's voice is sharp, irritated and Lexa's eyes harden, her mouth tightening into a thin line as she tilts her chin up just slightly. "Fetch us food and the rest of the wine."

Lexa stands, slowly and reluctantly, still watching the blonde with the simmering anger that is beginning to feel familiar to her.

"She's new Clarke," Octavia puts in from beside her, her voice soft with uncertainty as she looks between the two women. "She probably doesn't know where anything is."

"Oh," for the first time she sees the blonde's demeanour crack, uncertainty running like a vein of gold through dull grey rock and she hesitates for a moment before continuing. "It's all over there," her hand waves towards the back corner of the longhouse, "You'll figure it out."

Lexa nods once, stepping past them and towards the long, sturdy tables in the corner of the room, piled with neatly stacked pots and baskets of food covered in coarse cotton to keep it fresh. There's enough light from the fire to see what she's doing and she collects dried berries into a small, wooden bowl and reaches for a few apples to begin slicing them. It feels good to have the knife in her hands again, the handle sturdy beneath her fingers, the blade flashing in the candlelight and she pauses, spinning it in her hands and eyeing the small group by the fire. They are no older than her by her guess, though in her own lands they would have matured to warriors by now. Instead they are more like children, lounging around talking of nothing important.

The second apple she slices is rotten again and she frowns at it, fingering the flesh gently and feeling it give easily beneath her fingertips, tainted black with rot. She pushes the remains to the side, grabbing another fruit to dig her blade into when the conversation by the fire peaks her interest and her actions slow as she listens.

"I heard them saying she won't talk." It's Clarke, the blonde whose imposing manner wavered when confronted.

"How did you hear them?" Bellamy's voice is urgent, worried and Lexa's eyes dart to the side to see Octavia lean forward curiously.

"I was fetching my mother from a council meeting, we had an emergency in the ward that needed her attention." Clarke turns to look at Octavia and Lexa can see her profile, lit by the golden glow of the fire and her lips are upturned in a mischievous smirk. "I might have listened at the door for a minute."

"Risky," Bellamy observes, but there is a sort of dry humour to his words, a twinkle of respect reflected in his eyes and the smile he tries to hide.

"As if Jaha will touch me," Clarke scoffs and Octavia speaks, shaking her head.

"Wait, I don't understand.  Who is she?"

"The Dragon People’s leader, they caught her on the big raiding party." Clarke explains, patiently and Lexa's eyes widen, her stomach turning and her eyes flicker back to the table, hands hurrying to chop through the fruit as Clarke glances at her. When she speaks again it is more quietly, but Lexa still catches the words. "Apparently she refuses to speak."

"What are they  doing to her?" Octavia brims with horrified fascination, but Bellamy is hard and grim when he answers her.

"Things you wouldn't like to see."

The blade slices through the apple so harshly that it cracks down on the table, making them all jolt with surprise and Lexa sucks a deep breath in as she keeps her eyes downturned, gaze focussed on the task at hand so that they can't see the way her fingers tremble. She knew, of course, what Anya would face with the choice she made, but the realities of it are enough to make her stomach twist furiously and she's suddenly glad that she's had nothing substantial to eat.

She sweeps the sliced fruit into the bowl with the berries and grabs a bottle of dark liquid before pacing back towards the three teens, placing both on the floor in front of Clarke. Returning to her earlier task, her eyes are drawn upwards again suddenly, her heart sinking with dread as she searches the dark corners of the longhouse for any sign of her small companion.

"Where is Fern?"

The question is undoubtedly impertinent for one of her status, but when they look at her in surprise she meets their gazes steadily.

"She has gone home," Clarke answers her at last, eyeing her suspiciously.

"To her mother?"

"Yes."

"You allow her to return to her mother?" Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"Of course," Clarke's brows have furrowed and she is frowning across the small space at Lexa, confused and irritated. "What do you think we are, barbarians? She's only eight, we aren't going to separate her from her mother."

Lexa says nothing, but her silence seems to speak for itself as she turns back to the pots in her hands, rubbing at them firmly. The quiet from the three in front of her is disconcerting and they seem to be considering her until Octavia speaks, hurriedly, as if she has had to build up the nerve to do so.

"Thank you for the food, Lexa."

She just looks at the girl, raising her head slowly to meet her gaze  and nod once, but it seems to be enough to encourage Octavia blindly onwards.

"Abby is a good mistress, you know. You'll like it here in the end."

"I doubt that." Lexa's eyes move back to her hands and she can feel the fury sparking through her, hot and dangerous.

"You don't exactly know how to address your betters." Bellamy observes, but the dry humour is back in his voice and when Lexa looks up she sees that he is watching her in the same way that he watched Clarke only minutes ago.

"Have you ever seen a system like this before?" Octavia enquires, seemingly determined to engage her and Lexa continues to work even as her eyes move to the girl.

"No." Her words are curt, sharp and angry. "These systems have long been banned in my lands."

"Banned?" Clarke speaks for the first time in this exchange and when Lexa's eyes move to her she is leaning back on her hands, watching Lexa with a vague, lazy sort of interest. "Who enforces such a ban?"

"Our  Heda , the Commander," she clarifies when she sees their confusion. "She keeps order within the clans."

"More than one clan?" Bellamy frowns at her and she presses her lips together, eyes narrowing warily as she eyes them.

"The Commander has long enforced the ban on slavery. It is an archaic, inhumane practice." She answers simply and they watch her quietly for a moment as she returns to the work in her hands.

"Why did you save the boy?" Octavia asks, abruptly and upon seeing Lexa's uncertainty continues, "You have every reason to hate us, why would you save one of our people?"

"You saved a boy?" Clarke is watching her with surprise that she struggles to hide when Lexa's gaze lights on her once more.

"Yeah, Nathan's brother, the one your mother took home. Lexa saw him drowning and jumped in to get him. Bell and I saw her."

Clarke's eyes widen and she blinks at Lexa, clearly shocked by this tale. It sends an unexpected flush of shame running through her and she realises, with a sickening drop of her stomach, that here she is nothing more than a server, her bravery and skill unknown to these people.

"An innocent life is always worth saving." Lexa explains, simply, when it seems that Clarke will not speak again, but the blonde retorts back challengingly.

"You would not kill us all if given the chance?"

The question makes her startle and she looks at Clarke cautiously, eyeing her with confusion but Clarke is only watching her expectantly, eyebrows raised.

"I would certainly not be opposed to regaining my freedom," she speaks slowly, considering each word, weighing its worth carefully. "But an innocent life should never be taken if it can be avoided. He is a child, my fight is not with children."

"You have no fight now," Clarke's words, though direct and short, are soft and she sees a glimpse of sympathy in her gaze which makes her fingers tighten over the cloth in her hand.

Her eyes move back to the pot in her lap, and when she speaks her voice is steel, harsh and sharp. "I will always be fighting."

Silence follows her announcement, but when she peers up from beneath her lashes, she can see a flash of something in Clarke's eyes.

She thinks it could be respect.

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think, I am basically obssessed with reading your comments. also come shout in my ask box on tumblr @onemilliongoldstars  
> or like just talk if that's what you wanna do


	3. the first rule of battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for your support, I've been overwhelmed by it, it's amazing! Also thanks to indragram for being the beautiful nerd that she is and fixing all of my mistakes, what would I do without your little pink notes on my docs?

"Find Raven," Abby tells her, a few days later. She sits at her table, fingers fast and skilled as she makes poultices and potions to heal her people, and Lexa is reluctantly impressed, watching her as she stands close by, hands clasped behind her back. "I have no further use for you today," Clarke is seated at the end of the table - sorting through herbs for her mother - and she’s watching their exchange with interest. Lexa can feel her eyes on her. "Her workshop is on the hill, beside the blacksmith. You should find it easily. Tell her I sent you, she is working on a project that I am particularly interested in, and you can speed up the process."

Abby is not wrong in her estimation. Lexa follows the sound of the blacksmith, the crash of hammers against metal is familiar and warm in her stomach and comes to an abrupt halt outside the small hut, wedged between two larger workshops. It is easily the oddest place Lexa has ever seen, flanked by two buildings made from wooden planks, sturdy and stable, this place looks like something from a legend. She is surprised that it is even standing, so rickety it is, made from scavenged pieces of wood and metal and dried clay, held together with nails and rope and mud. A small chimney puffs out dark smoke above it, and there is even a jagged piece of glass wedged into part of the wall, letting in the light while keeping out the cold. It is both ridiculous and genius, and she finds herself stalled before the building, simply staring at it.

"Awesome, right?" A hand claps onto her shoulder and she jolts, jerking away from the touch with alarm.

The girl beside her smiles slightly, holding out a hand for her to shake. "Raven, builder and resident."

"Lexa," She takes the offered hand gingerly, shaking once before continuing on. "I was sent by Abby, to be of assistance."

"Oh, sure come on in." She gestures with a hand for Lexa to follow, and as she falls into pace behind the mechanic, Lexa notices the brace that is strapped around her leg, the slight awkwardness of her movements.

Raven pulls open the door and ushers her into the tiny, dim space and she stalls, coming to a halt in the certain of the room and staring around her. Every wall is covered in shelves and every available surface is covered in scraps of metal and wood. Sketches of designs cover the available wall space, and tools are arranged artfully across the large work table, which fills most of the space. Abby had called it a workshop, but Lexa can see that there is a fire by one wall with a selection of dented pots close to it, and an old chair, covered in scraps of fur. In the corner there is a pile of furs - far more appealing than the bed of straw she has been sleeping in for the last few nights - and it hits her that not only is this Raven's workshop, it is also her home.

"You like it?" Raven is watching her expectantly, confident in her answer and Lexa can't fight her smile.

"It's brilliant." She answers truthfully.

"Thanks," Raven moves towards the fire. "You want something to drink? Eat?"

"No, thank you." She is bemused by the girl, watching as she shrugs and bends to dig through the pile of stuff in the corner, pulling out a flask and a mug and pouring herself a healthy amount, before swallowing it and cringing at the taste.

Lexa watches her, bemused and Raven catches her gaze, waving the flask with a grin. "Whiskey, helps me work."

"I see," Lexa stands in the middle of the room, uncertain what to do with herself.

"So Abby sent you here, huh? Guess she and Jaha are really insistent on this whole catapult thing." Raven approaches her, putting her mug down on the work table and pulling over a pile of papers, shaking her head. "Ridiculous, they think two people can put together a thing like that? And in what... three days?"

"A catapult?" Lexa moves to stand behind her, peering uncertainly at the contraception that the skilled, sure lines on the page betrayed. "What does it do?"

"The basic premise is simple," Raven moves her hands around the paper, demonstrating the actions and relevant pieces and parts. "It's all about balance and physics, the force of the weights hitting the opposite end of the shaft will send the rocks flying through the air."

Lexa's stomach sinks with dread at the image, voice catching slightly when she asks. "For what purpose?"

“God knows,” Raven rolls her eyes, casting them heavenward as if exhausted of their requests. “Jaha sees everything as a threat, he probably wants to sling stones at the clouds. I learnt long ago to not ask questions.”

“Sling stones at the clouds,” Lexa echoes quietly, her heart speeding in her chest as her eyes scan over the dark lines on the page, struggling to construct them in her mind. “How long will it take you to make?”

Raven shrugs, eyes moving up to peer out of the window as she answers. “Depends on how much help I’m given, I guess. Anywhere between two weeks and two months.”

“You have no slaves of your own to assist you?” It seems odd, an injured woman working alone at such a strenuous job, but Raven only lets out a dry burst of laughter.

“Not so much,” Her fingers wander up to draw back her hair, from where it falls around the nape of her neck from her ponytail, and tilts down the collar of her dark red jacket for Lexa to see the thin line of metal that sits around her throat.

Her mouth falls open and she sucks in a small, shocked breath of air. Raven allows her to look for a moment before readjusting herself to hide the offending ornament. Her eyes don’t meet Lexa’s as she speaks, instead staying fixed on the drawings before her as she flattens and straightens them against the worktop in quietly hurried movements.

“Yeah, I’m not what you thought, right?”

“I-I didn’t realise,” She stumbles over her words, rushing to string them together, as fragile as bunting on a ribbon. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You didn’t,” Raven rolls her eyes, swinging herself out from under the desk to stand and pace across the room. “I guess I’m not exactly the ideal slave.”

“You… live alone. On the hill.” She’d heard of slave families, those who’d been owned by the same people for years, being allowed to live away from their masters in a long hall, with other surfs, but Raven’s construction on the rise with the heads of the village is odd, and it seems awkward. She can’t place it in this world.

“Yeah, well I just sort of set up camp here a while back and they couldn’t really do anything about it.” She sits heavily into the chair by the stove, nodding to the small, three pronged stool opposite her, “Sit down, have something to eat.”

Slowly, Lexa does as instructed, lowering herself down onto the stool and clasping her hands together as she watches Raven with steadily growing interest. “Your master didn’t stop you?”

“I don’t really  have one,” Raven shrugs, but there is a slight smile lingering at the edges of her lips, betraying her pleasure at the words. She continues speaking as she leans over to cut at a hunk of bread on the table beside her, sliding it onto a dented tin plate along with a slice of crumbling cheese and some dried meats. “My master died when I was fifteen, and Jaha sort of commandeered me to be his mechanic. But I’m not  his , so I just started fending for myself.”

“You’re a mechanic?” Lexa takes the plate she offers gratefully, chewing at the doughy bread. “I thought slaves weren’t allowed a trade?”

“I learnt everything I know as a child, for the most part. Back at home.” Grief wraps around her words, lacing through them, and Lexa lets a silence spread between them before she asks, tentatively.

“Where is home?”

“To the south,” Raven’s eyes flicker up to meet her, her smile soft and slight and there is a lightness to her gaze. “It’s very different there. Well, it was, I don’t think it exists anymore.”

“They destroyed it?” Her eyes widen, aghast, when Raven nods. “That’s terrible, I’m sorry.”

Raven’s voice is filled with forced lightness when she replies, her jaw tight with the pain of the memory. “It’s in the past, nothing that can be done now. Anyway, I showed my skill here, built things they could never even dream of before me. I’m the best mechanic they’ve ever had.”

“And they gave you your freedom?”

“No.” Raven’s eyes harden furiously, her fist clenching on the armrest of her chair. “Jaha promised it to me, when I first started working for him, but that was years ago and here I am,” Her fingers go up to touch the collar around her neck, and she spits her next words, “Still in chains.”

“They keep you working with the promise of your freedom.” She voices her realisation aloud and Raven nods stiffly.

“I would have run long ago if it weren’t for  this ,” She gestures with a sort of useless fury at the brace around her leg. “Accident when I was building, almost crushed my spine.” Her brows quirk wryly, “Abby saved me, guess I’m too valuable to die.”

“They keep you because they need you.” Lexa’s lips press together into a thin, angry line. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m used to it.” She slumps back in her chair, gesturing to the surrounding walls. “I’ve made a home here and I do better than most,” her eyes gentle a little, sympathetic, “Better than you, I expect. That’s why this place looks so bizarre, slaves can’t purchase raw material so I’ve had to scavenge and steal most of this stuff.”

“It is incredible, but you shouldn’t have to tolerate it.” There’s fire in her voice, the spark - which has resided inside of her from the moment she awoke in the dim, rocking hull of the slaver’s ship - igniting briefly in Raven’s presence.

“You’re new right?” Raven observes her carefully, “Where’s home for you?”

“The forests to the east.” Her fingers run distractedly around the edge of the tin plate, but Raven’s eyes widen, and she shifts forwards in her seat to stare at Lexa.

“So you’ve seen them?”

Her stomach swoops nervously, and she eyes the girl across from her warily. “Seen what?”

“The dragons?”

A beat of silence passes between them, heavily laden with expectation and uncertainty, before Lexa caves, breathing out her answer softly.

“Yes.”

“What are they like?” Raven’s eyes are as wide as saucers, alive with excitement and Lexa can’t help but feel a shadow of the same thrill, her stomach clenching tightly at the thought of the shadowy beasts, illuminated by their own flames.

“Magnificent,” She says, at last. “Indescribable. You’ve never seen one?”

“Only from far away. They don’t stay around here, they know not to by now.”

“Know not to?” She frowns at the words, “What does that mean?”

“They are feared around here, the Sky People kill them on sight.” Raven takes a swig from her mug, cringing at the burn that rushes down her throat as Lexa’s mouth drops open.

“Kill them? How can they? They are  sacred animals .”

“Nothing is sacred to them,” Raven responds lowly, “In the mountains they were terrorised by dragons, it's why they came down here. But the dragons seem to sense their hostility and they burn the fertile land, leaving them with barely enough produce to feed the village. That’s why they’re so intent on getting rid of them, it’s probably why they attacked your lands. Is it true that your leaders can talk to them? Someone once told me they fuck them, but I’m pretty sure he was talking out of his ass.”

“They don’t lay with them,” Lexa rolls her eyes, hesitating for a moment, “and they don’t…  talk to them either, not really. But it’s true, our leaders have a connection with the dragons. They take one for their own, ride it into battle.”

“Shit, that’s cool.” Raven laughs softly - impressed - and offers her the mug in her hand. “How did they defeat you when you have  dragons ?”

“They surprised us. Our Heda was out on patrol,” Her eyes flicker down to her fingers, “I expect she feels very guilty.”

“She shouldn’t,” Raven shakes her head, sighing softly as she runs her hands over her forehead. “They’re cowardly fighters, they attack when they’re least expected. Not many come out of it well.” She sucks on her teeth for a moment, contemplating, “You should probably head back before Abby starts getting irritable.”

Lexa nods, rising and Raven does the same, despite her insistence that the girl stay seated. She sees her to the rickety door, lingering there.

“Tell Abby you were really helpful and we got lots done. I can try to ask for your help again, if you want?”

“I’d appreciate it, thank you.” A hand touches her shoulder gently and when she looks up Raven is watching her with soft, kind eyes.

“Hey, it gets better, okay? You’ve just got to find your feet.”

The words send a rush of annoyance running through her, but she presses her lips together and nods silently. She doesn’t mention that the second she finds her feet she’ll be running.

\----

She can hear the raised voices before she even opens the door. Night had begun to fall while she was with Raven, dusk slipping through the village, and a few torches have been lit to help guide her way back to Abby's longhouse. She lingers for a moment outside the door, letting her eyes wander to the village stretched out below the hill, where flickering flames shine out like the stars in the dark sky. Above them heavy clouds fill the sky, obscuring the moon, and a chilling breeze whips at her thin clothes, slipping over her bare arms and leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, so she slips into the longhouse.

Fern is gone, allowed to return to her family, and the only other three people in the longhouse stand near the fire, talking in loud, angry voices. Lexa hesitates - wondering if she should make herself known to them - and watches as she edges slowly along the wall, keeping to the shadows. Abby stands the closest to the fire, her hands on her hips as she argues fiercely with Clarke, who is glowering at her. A few paces away, looking awkward and uncertain, stands a boy around Clarke's age, his floppy hair hanging over his eyes as he watches them.

Distracted, she collides into the large, long table and medical instruments rattle, bringing their eyes spinning over to land on her, and she feels her skin prickle with the force of their glares.

"You've only just returned?" Abby snaps, and Lexa nods, lips pressing together as they almost always do around her mistress, attempting to keep her words from spilling out and getting her executed. "You've been gone for hours!"

"Raven found use of me." She shrugs, shifting from one foot to another as Abby shakes her head, making a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. "I didn't realise you wanted me back early."

"All that I  want is your respect." Abby retorts, sharply, "Address me properly, girl."

Lexa's jaw clenches and her eyes flicker to the stranger in the longhouse, the boy that this show is obviously being put on for, before she says, stiffly. "Yes. Apologies, mistress."

"Better," Abby looks pacified, nodding once and Lexa feels her stomach recoil at the word, threatening to bring back up the food Raven had given her. "Dinner has been and gone, you'll have to go without."

Lexa just nods, easily filled from her meal not half an hour before, but to her surprise it is Clarke who speaks up.

"You're being ridiculous, she must eat."

"And why, pray,  must she?" Abby demands, turning on her daughter with fire in her eyes.

Clarke doesn't back down, gesturing wildly to where Lexa stands with a violent hand. "How is she meant to function properly tomorrow with no dinner?  Raven is the one who kept her, and  you told her to do whatever Raven asked of her."

" Fine , but I can't waste her time, things need to be done." She grabs a bag a few paces away from her and holds it out expectantly towards Lexa, who steps forward to take it into her arms, handling the rough cloth awkwardly. "Unwind these ropes, I need the fibres and they are almost useless. Meanwhile  you ," Her eyes fix back on Clarke and Lexa watches, a smile flickering onto her face as Clarke's spine straightens to meet her mother's fury, "can fetch her something to eat, considering how you're so intent on it."

"I will." Clarke snaps back, and Abby pushes past her to gesture to the boy who has been watching their confrontation uncertainly.

"Finn, come with me. I have rounds to get to, and I'm sure you have to get home, we can walk some of the way together."

Finn nods his agreement and casts Clarke a hesitant smile that she returns thinly, watching them silently until the door slams shut behind them and her shoulders slump, a grunt of irritation leaving her. Lexa eyes her as she takes the bag of ropes to sit beside the fire, tugging them out and curling them near her feet. It is hard work but she is not unused to it, her fingers made hard and tough from years of training and working as Anya's second until she was called to become  Heda of her people.

The plate of food that appears in front of her makes her startle, gaze moving up to where Clarke is sitting heavily beside her. The blonde casts her a sheepish smile, waving awkward fingers at the offering and saying, apologetically.

"I haven't got a lot of experience when it comes to cooking, but I figured I couldn't mess this up."

"It would be difficult," Lexa agrees, quietly, abandoning the rope to pick the whole apple off the tray, smiling when the sees the dried kipper lying beside it. She fingers the fruit cautiously for a moment and Clarke catches the action because she smiles reassuringly and says.

"Don't worry, it's good. I checked."

"Thank you," Her teeth crush through the thick skin of the fruit, crunching through the juicy flesh beneath it and she smiles as the sour taste spills over her tongue, wiping hurriedly at the juices that slip over the edges of her lips. "Really, for all of this," Her eyes meet Clarke's again, and the blue of the sky that she sees reflected back at her is strangely tender. She tears her gaze away, focusing back on the fruit in her hands, "You didn't have to stand up to your mother like that."

"Sometimes she needs someone to stand up to her," Clarke busies herself, retrieving a wet stone and pulling the dagger from its sheath on her thigh.

"You were arguing with her?" Lexa's fingers go to tangle in the rope, teasing it apart absently as she continues to eat, glad of the distraction as silence stretches out between her and Clarke, broken only by the snap and crackle of the fire.

"Yes," Clarke answers at last, "We don't always see eye to eye."

"That is a shame." She feel Clarke's gaze on her again and her eyes are forced upwards of their own accord, "I never really knew my mother."

"Some would say you're lucky," Clarke tells her wryly, eyebrows shooting up, but when Lexa frowns she continues, "Not me, though. Friends of mine have grown up without families, I wouldn't wish it on anyone."

Her brows crease and she takes another bite of the apple, thinking for a moment before speaking. "Octavia and Bellamy?"

"Yes." Clarke blinks at her, surprise contorting the lines of her face. "How did you know?"

"They're very close for brother and sister," Lexa shrugs, looking back to the rope beside her, finishing off the apple in her hands in a few bites.

"My mother and I fight a lot," Clarke scrapes the blade down the stone loudly, the sound making Lexa flinch, wrinkling her nose as she watches Clarke's technique. "Tonight's argument was about my future."

"Your future?" She speaks softly, almost as if she isn't there, prompting Clarke quietly, but the girl seems to need little encouragement, because she launches into her explanation eagerly.

"She wants me to be her apprentice, work under her as a doctor, marry quietly, have children, but I don't want that."

"What do you want? A healer is an honourable profession."

"I know," Clarke snaps, irritably, "and I know enough to always be of use. I like helping people, but I've seen what our violence does, how it tears people apart. I want to stop that."

Her fingers still and green eyes move up again, fascinated. Clarke's cheeks are flushed, though from the heat of the fire or the passion of her words Lexa isn't sure. She has faltered sharpening her dagger and is instead waving her hands around as she speaks, one still clutching the blade.

"But my mother wants me to keep my head down, and keep the system going. She wants me to become a  housewife ."

"How will you try to stop the violence?" Lexa reaches out when Clarke's hand flies too close to her face, fingers curling around the girl's wrist and Clarke freezes, her whole body stilling as she turns to look at Lexa in surprise, gaze moving between her fingers and Lexa's face.

"I-I," she stumbles over her words, "I have to become a member of the council."

"And how will you do that?" Slowly, Lexa unfurls her fingers from pale skin, letting Clarke's hand drop to her side, and the girl lets go of the dagger, leaving it on the dirt in front of her as she brings her hands into her lap, tangling them together nervously. It's almost endearing to see her uncertainty.

"Do something that makes Jaha respect me. The place of healer is filled but... I think I'd like to explore. Maybe find a new land, one that we could move to that would be less dangerous. In a new place, maybe people would be more understanding."

"There are many lands out there," Lexa speaks carefully. "But most of them are already claimed."

"I wouldn't like to push anyone out of their home," Clarke smiles a little sadly at her, sighing softly, "Though I'm sure you don't believe me on that."

"I don't have much of a reason to." She admits, and Clarke's laugh is awkward and slightly bitter, silence following it as Lexa returns to her task, skilled fingers prying apart the rough fibres of the rope.

"I'm sorry you have to do that." Clarke apologises, suddenly, and Lexa is so surprised that she raises her head again, staring at her, perplexed, before answering slowly.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. Regardless, I find it soothing; I'm used to mindless labour."

"You are?" Clarke brushes a stray piece of light hair from her forehead, tucking it behind her ears as she asks, curiously. "I thought you were a server to your chief?"

"Commander," Lexa corrects her, automatically, "And yes, I was, but I was also a second - a warrior in training." A small smile presses at her lips, slight and fond, "My mentor used to make me do all sorts of things. She believed in learning by doing."

"You sound as if you were close to her?" Clarke speaks after a moment's pause, and her words are tentative, respectful. "Is she here?"

"Yes." The response leaves her clipped and sharp, but Clarke pays little mind, continuing.

"Have you seen her?"

"No."

"And you were a warrior?" Clarke is still watching her, eyes wide with interest, and Lexa wonders whether or not she will regret opening herself up to this girl. There's something about Clarke, however, that sets her mind at ease and she finds herself nodding.

"Everyone in my lands is a warrior, in one way or another. Some fight always, some only when it is necessary, but all can wield a sword; it keeps us protected."

"So you can fight?" Clarke blinks at her in surprise - startled - and Lexa feels an unexpected rush of annoyance and indignation.

"Better than most." She responds sharply, and her eyes move back down to the dagger that is once again held in her hands. "I know you're doing that wrong, for example."

Clarke's mouth drops open, but she gathers herself quickly, laughing once in disbelief before turning to her, holding out the wet stone and the blade challengingly. "Show me then."

Wordlessly, Lexa takes the objects, twisting so she can demonstrate the proper technique to the girl, smiling slightly as she angles the blade and runs it down the stone, a satisfying ring meeting her ears. "It's all about the angle and the force," She explains, tilting her wrist ever so slightly, and Clarke leans forward to get a better look, watching with fascination. Lexa eyes her in disbelief, runs the pad of her thumb across the smooth bone of the dagger in her hands, and her mind works very quickly. Darting forward, she grabs Clarke by the arm and uses her own momentum to yank the girl around,pulling her until they are both knelt up, Clarke's back pressed firmly against her front, her dagger at the blonde's throat, almost hard enough to draw blood.

She can feel Clarke's ragged, alarmed breathing against her ribs and breasts, and both of the girl’s hands rush up, one to grab at the arm holding the dagger and pull on it, the other to tangle in her dark hair, clinging on in something between fury and desperation. There is silence for a moment, heated and lingering between them, and Clarke is trembling, her whole body wracked by shaking.

"First rule of battle," Lexa's words are low in her ear, harsh with authority, and she feels Clarke shiver beneath her, trying to flinch away from the hot breath across her neck. "Never  give your enemy a weapon."

She releases Clarke, letting the girl fall forward - away from her - and flips the weapon in her hands, pressing the bone handle into the girl's palm. Clarke stares at her, eyes wide as she scrambles a few paces away, and Lexa allows herself a small, satisfied smile as she turns back to her work. The adrenaline is rushing through her, old and familiar as ever, and somewhere in the depths of her stomach she feels an echo of a response from Tyr - wherever he could be - and her eyes almost flicker shut, desperately reaching for the feeling as if she can hold it close, but it’s gone like smoke into the winter air.

"That was amazing."

Clarke's words pull her from her thoughts, and she frowns at the girl, looking to where she's sitting up again, one hand going to touch at her neck nervously.

"I mean, stupid." Clarke adds, raising an eyebrow at her. "But still pretty brilliant."

"Thank you," Lexa nods, bowing her head in recognition of the praise, and she feels a flush at the back of her neck when she senses Clarke's eyes still on her.

"I'd like to ask you something."

Lexa frowns, nodding slightly as she eyes Clarke, watching the way the flickering flames both mar her face with shadows and illuminate the strands of gold running through her hair.

"Will you train me to fight?" Lexa's lips part in surprise, her brows shooting up and she opens her mouth to protest, but Clarke hurries on before she can. "You're obviously brilliant, and I need help if I'm going to prove everyone wrong."

"Surely," Lexa speaks, dryly, arching an eyebrow sceptically. "You do not have to  ask me ."

"I'd rather you wanted to, Lexa." Clarke frowns at her, perturbed and Lexa hesitates, thinking quietly for a moment.

"I will," she says at last, "But you must do something for me in return."

"What?" Clarke leans forward, eyes eager and innocent.

"Bring me news of Anya, the woman you have locked away, the one you are," Her lip curls in disgust, " Torturing . Tell me if she lives. Tell me if she is well. Then I will help you."

"Deal." Clarke holds out a hand and Lexa eyes it warily, before reaching out and curling her fingers around Clarke's elbow, watching as soft fingers brush against her skin and hold tightly onto her, as if she will never let go.

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Please let me know down below or come chat with me over on tumblr @onemilliongoldstars!


	4. twice dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys are honestly wonderful, your comments absolutely make my day so please never stop. shout out to @indragram for being a cute little kitten and beta'ing for me.

4\. twice dead

Her mother is already gone for the day when Clarke wakes, and she can't help but be eternally grateful for the woman's absence. She had already gone to bed by the time she heard Abby return the night before and she'd listened at her door, lingering there on the vague pretence of lighting a candle, and heard her tell Lexa to get some sleep. The sun is high in the sky by the time Clarke drags herself from her bed, crawling reluctantly from the furs once her growling stomach can no longer be ignored, and throwing on her clothes. She is still tightening the buckle on her tunic when she steps through into the main room, sniffing gratefully at the air when she hears the crackle of bacon frying in a pan above the fire.

"Good morning mistress," Fern greets her politely when she enters and grabs a wooden bowl to spoon in porridge, thick with oats and milk. "I thought you would wake soon," The girl says, looking to her as Clarke fills a canteen from the bucket of water.

"You know me well," Clarke smiles, bringing the empty bucket closer. "This will need filling."

"Of course," Fern pulls the cooked bacon from the pan and lays it over the porridge, passing the dish towards Clarke. "Right away."

"I'll do it."                                   

Lexa's voice from the shadows makes her jump, startling her and she turns to watch as the girl stands from the stool at which she's been spinning twine and steps towards them. She is fascinating to look at, every time she's near Clarke feels as though she can't tear her eyes from the girl; all high cheekbones and narrow chin, hair long and dark. The tattoos that spiral along her body are so intricate that Clarke wishes she could draw them, wishes she could ask Lexa to stay still so that she could copy each detail down onto paper.

"No, I can," Fern's eyes flicker between Clarke and Lexa nervously, as if she’s uncertain, and Lexa says something short and sharp in a language that Clarke has never heard before.

Fern's eyes widen and move pointedly back to Clarke and Lexa's own gaze narrows into a frown before she strides forward and grabs the bucket. "Don't worry yourself." She tells the girl and Fern's nod is long and low, bowing her head in acceptance.

Lexa turns, starting towards the door and Clarke's stomach drops at seeing her go, looking quickly to Fern before she says, hastily. "I'll come with you part of the way. I'm late to meet Octavia as it is."

Lexa is already halfway out of the door and she grabs a hunk of bread from the table before hurrying to catch up with her, slightly breathless.

"You remember what you promised to do?" Lexa asks, without preamble and Clarke nods, swallowing heavily.

"I'll fulfil my side of the bargain if you'll fulfil yours."

"You first," Lexa tells her, sharply and Clarke nods, dunking her bread into the porridge and eating hungrily, a small sound of satisfaction leaving her at the taste on her tongue.

Lexa looks at her, expression unreadable and Clarke hesitates, offering the bowl in her direction as she plucks out a piece of bacon to chew on. "Do you want some?"

"No, thank you." Lexa shakes her head once, a short, stiff movement and then says, after a moment of deliberation. "I had heard that your village was starving, you certainly seem to do well."

"My mother is important, she gets a good share of the rations." Despite herself, she can feel a flush creeping onto her cheeks, embarrassment flooding through her.

"Your mother is rich." Lexa corrects her, idly and Clarke reaches out grabbing at her arm to pull her to a stop, eyes darting out to look at the people around them.

"Watch your tongue, no one can know we're... whatever we are. Remember who's in charge here."

"And  you ," Lexa steps closer to her, ignoring the hand on her arm. She is practically hissing with anger, burning and bubbling beneath the surface. "Remember who held a knife up against your throat last night."

She turns, ripping herself from Clarke's now limp grip and stomping away down the hill and Clarke watches her, open mouthed.

By the time she finds Octavia most of her anger has slipped away, turned to dust that is brushed away by the gentle breeze. Octavia is waiting impatiently for her at the corner of the blacksmith's workshop, tapping her foot irritably as she swings the bag at her side nervously. She looks up at Clarke's approach, raising her eyes to the heavens and stepping forward to meet her, snaking an arm through hers to draw her close so that she can speak in her ear.

" There  you are, I've been waiting for ages."

"I'm only a few minutes late," Clarke argues, falling into stride beside her. "Don't exaggerate."

"I'm not," Octavia leans over, pinching the second piece of bacon from her bowl and shoving it into her mouth. She ignores Clarke's squawk of protest, letting out a satisfied moan at the taste and speaking around the food. "Ugh, god I swear your rations are one of the few reasons we keep you around, Griffin."

"Whatever," Clarke rolls her eyes, before asking a little more softly. "How long since you and Bell last had meat?"

"A few days," Octavia shrugs, pressing her lips together, "Bell doesn't make too much in the guard, you know that. And Reams pays me pittance - apparently apprentice seamstress isn’t where the money is."

Clarke grunts sympathetically, but says nothing else. If she's learnt anything as Octavia's friend it's that the Blakes won't accept pity from anyone, so she holds her tongue when she thinks of the remnants of the boar they ate the night before now being added to a hearty stew and makes a note to ask them to eat with her and her mother in the future.

"Did Bellamy send any word? We couldn't really speak properly when we were last together."

"Only that Jaha has been having more meetings with Kane, he says they seem nervous. Something’s changed."

"It's ever since that new ship arrived, with the slaves." Clarke ponders, brows furrowed and they fall silent for a moment as they pass a group of guards, clustered together to oversee the morning markets. When they are out of earshot she continues, but her voice is low. "There's something about them, even my mom's been tense."

"Do you know where they're from?" Octavia pauses to look longingly at the selection of knives displayed across a stall, hurrying on only when the owner sends a glower her way.

"No," Clarke finishes the final few bites of her breakfast, rolling the food around her mouth as she thinks, "Lexa spoke to Fern though, in some language."

"Really, in front of you?" Octavia's eyes widen and she lets out a soft, impressed laugh. "That girl has balls, I'll give her that. Imagine if you had been your mother."

"My mother is close to having her flayed," Clarke runs a hand through her hair, tugging on the errant strands and pulling them back, exposing her neck to the cool morning air. "She's gotten worse."

"Fern is from the eastern lands, isn't she? The forests? I mean, her mother is."

"Yeah, I think so," Her feet move through the mud, reaching out a hand to urge Octavia to the side when a cart rolls past them, pulled by a thin, sickly looking donkey and piled with timber. "Isn't that where..."

"Where the dragon riders live." Octavia finishes her thought quietly, words soft with reverence, and when her widened eyes meet Clarke's they are filled with awe. "That's why everyone is so anxious."

"They've brought the wrath of the dragon riders down on us." She can feel her heart pounding in her chest, her gaze moving up to the sky unbidden, searching for the shadowy creatures that she has only ever seen from afar and in her nightmares. "We're doomed."

"No," Octavia shakes her head, long braids bouncing against her back. "They've been here for almost a week, if they were going to attack they would have done so by now." Despite her words Clarke can see the girl's hand running down from her hip to finger the dagger strapped at her thigh.

"But the council wouldn't be worried for nothing," she argues, pressing her lips together nervously. She can feel the panic rising in her chest, tightening it and making her breathing come harsh and heavy.

"Maybe they fear an attack in the future. Or a rebellion." Octavia muses, pulling her onwards again, but Clarke shakes her head.

"They're planning something, they must be. Jaha wouldn't just leave us like sitting ducks and Kane  definitely wouldn't."

"I wouldn't be surprised if they were scared," Octavia stops again beside a pitiful fruit stall, piled with half rotten apples and a few soft pears and pulls a few coins from the purse at her side, handing them over in exchange for the firmest pear she can find. "Lexa is terrifying."

A smile, unbidden, tweaks at Clarke's lips at the name and she nods, eyes flickering away. "She is."

"This is such a scam, they're all falling to bits," Octavia glares at the woman behind the stall. "I'm not paying two silvers for this shit."

"Try to find better," The woman remarks, angrily, "You've put your dirty fingers all over my produce now, anyway."

"Cheating bitch," Octavia mutters, turning on her heel to stride away, teeth ripping into the juicy fruit. "Whatever," Clarke hurries to catch up with her, eyeing the fruit in her hand with a wrinkled nose, "You've actually spoken to Lexa then?"

"Yeah," Clarke hesitates, deliberating over her words for a moment before she continues, quickly, "She offered to help me fight."

" What ?" Octavia's voice is so loud that it draws stares, people turning to look at her in surprise and Clarke grunts, irritated, and grabs her arm, pulling her into the narrow alleyway formed between two huts. " Clarke ," Octavia shakes off her grip, words urgent and harried, "You know the rules! If they catch you fighting you'll be in serious trouble; only guards are allowed to be trained in combat. And  Lexa ," she lets out a disbelieving, furious breath of air, "They'll  kill  her, Clarke. Slaves aren't allowed to wield weapons, you know that!"

"Of course I do! Do you think I'm an idiot?" Clarke glares at her, indignantly and Octavia shakes her head, eyes raising to the sky, covered in a blanket of grey clouds.

"Yeah, actually! You're putting yourself  and Lexa at risk!"

"I'm not  forcing her ," She hisses, "And  you know how to fight!"

"Because Bellamy taught me! In our  home ! Where we were safe!" Octavia snaps back, furiously. "And what exactly is she going to get in return for risking her life, Clarke?"

"She wants to know about the woman they caught, the one they're torturing." Clarke rubs fingers against her temples, aggravated. "Wants to know if she's alive or whatever. I figure I can just hang around, ask a few innocent questions, it'll be easy once I find out  where she is." Octavia still looks thoroughly unimpressed, raising a dark eyebrow at her and Clarke can feel her resolve crumbling, sighing heavily. "Please, O. You know I need this if I'm ever going to do what I want, what  we  want. Jaha won't listen to me unless I can prove I can protect myself and if I can't do that then we'll never be able to find somewhere new, somewhere  better . We'll be stuck here, living this half life," She nods to the remnants of the fruit in Octavia's hands, " Hurting people."

Octavia's eyes stay fixed unerringly on her as the girl considers her words, her gaze harsh and heavy but Clarke forces herself not to look away. "Fine," She says at last, voice low with caution. "But  be careful . And... I can probably help you with that woman."

"Really?"

"Bellamy said they're keeping her on the hill, around the far side. She should be easy to find."

\----

The basket in her arms is weighed down heavily with fish, the stench of which permeates the air around her, weaving its way into her hair and her clothes until she is sure it will imprint itself into her skin. The woman behind the stall seems as if she is made of leather, lines worn into her face as beady grey eyes look out at her, wrinkled fingers grasping greedily at the gold piece she passes over.

"Who's it for, girl?" Her voice is gravelly, rough with years of shouting the catch through the clamour of the markets. Shaking fingers grip a cracked piece of charcoal, held over a well kept log book.

"Abby Griffin," Lexa informs her, but her mind is barely there, her eyes wandering the market place for any sign of a familiar face and it is only when the woman nods and shoos her away that she spots, suddenly, the head held high amongst most others. The basket bounces against her thigh as she hurries forward, pushing past the milling people, hands brushing against leather and hide and cotton to burst from the throng of the crowd.

"Gustus!"

The man looks up and Lexa flinches at how changed he appears. His hair has been cut until it sits in only a short ponytail at the back of his head. His armour has disappeared and is replaced by clothes similar to her own; thin, old and patched, ill fitting on such a big frame. He has a butcher's knife in his hands and is gutting rabbits against the stump of a tree, his fingers covered in their blood, and when he looks up she sees that he too has a metal monstrosity fastened around his neck, and her blood turns to ice at the sight.

"Lexa!" He is wise enough not to call out her title and stands to meet her. She is unable to stop herself at the sight of one of her oldest friends, the first of her people that she has seen since coming to this wretched land, and her feet speed beneath her, her arm reaching out to grasp him and pull him close.

Arms as thick as tree trunks wrap around her and she is immediately young, just a child pouring over maps she doesn't fully understand until large hands pulled at her waist, tickling her until she gave herself over to him, laughing and squirming. The memories send a crushing wave of sadness running through her and her fingers tighten around coarse material before she pulls away, steadying her breathing and blinking away the tears that pool in her eyes.

"I have missed you, young one." He speaks in her language and the sound is so gentle to her ears, so familiar and kind that she has to swallow heavily before she can answer him.

"I feared you were dead."

"It takes more than a few Sky People to bring me to my knees," He tells her, brushing away a stray piece of hair from her cheek and his eyes fix to the collar settled around her neck, gaze hardening. "This is an insult, Heda."

"One we have all had to endure," She replies, her voice like iron. "You are the first I have seen, are our people well?"

"They cope," he responds simply and she nods. It is the best she can hope for. "They will be glad to know you are alive, Heda. There were fears."

"I have been upon the hill, but the opportunities to leave the house are few and far between." She admits, teeth gritting angrily. "What of Anya?"

Gustus shakes his head gravely, "I have heard nothing; but she is strong Heda. If anyone can survive, it will be Anya."

"Stubborn as a mule," she remarks, fondly, but continues, "I hope to find out if she lives soon-"

"Hey!" The coarse English breaks through their words, cracking like a whip through the air and they turn, alarmed, to see the two approaching guards. Gustus reaches for her, pulling her behind his back instinctively, but she pushes him away, distancing them as she steps forward to meet the men, one of whom grabs at her arm.

"Languages other than English are  forbidden ." The second man, the one holding the crossbow that is pointed at Gustus, barks. "The punishment is a lashing. Who are your masters?"

"It was my doing," Lexa hurries to speak, before her advisor can cut through her. "I coerced him, punish me."

" I  won't be punishing you." The man remarks, raising an eyebrow over his shoulder in her direction and she resists the urge to glower at him, fingers clenching on the basket in her hand. "That'll be down to your master, and his," He nods to Gustus, whose hands are wrapped so tightly around his blade that Lexa fears he will barrel forward and slash the throat of the arrogant guard.

" Em pleni , Gustus." She hisses and the man holding her shakes her angrily but Gustus lets the weapon lower slowly, his eyes fixed to her.

"Come on," The first guard pulls at her arm, clearly unsettled by their exchange. "You're Abby Griffin's new surf, aren't you? We'll see you straightened out." His grip is firm and strong, thick fingers biting into her flesh and she is hauled away, casting one last look over her shoulder to where Gustus watches her go, before she is once again enveloped by the milling crowds.

They draw attention on their walk, Lexa struggling against the guard's touch as he pulls her, the man pausing every few minutes to smack at her head or issue a loud reprimand. Through the crowd Lexa's eyes find Raven's, standing beside some sort of machine, hands and clothes dirty with mud and oil, and she is gratified when the girl does not turn away, keeping their eyes locked until Lexa is dragged from view. Only when they reach the longhouse does he release her, shoving her forward to send her sprawling to the floor of dry dirt, spluttering in outrage and barely catching herself.

Abby stands from her seat, apologising softly to the patient sat by the fire and moves to where they stand, illuminated by the daylight that streams in through the doorway. Lexa only just manages to push herself onto her feet by the time the woman approaches, shifting out of the reach of the guard and squaring her shoulders.

"Again, Lexa?" Abby raises an eyebrow at her, stooping with surprising grace to pull the basket, still blessedly full, onto the table. "I hope you returned with all of my gold."

"We caught her speaking forbidden languages, Mistress Griffin." The guard glares at her, pushing at her shoulder so that she is forced to stumble forward and closer to Abby, eyes still surly.

"I see," Abby presses her lips together, gaze roaming over Lexa's face as if searching for some trace of regret or fear. Lexa is proud when she turns away, displeased and unsatisfied.

"The punishment is a lashing," The guard insists, eagerly, and she resists the urge to snarl at him, grinding her teeth angrily and directing her eyes to the ground, taking in the flimsy shoes that are barely hanging from her feet, offering no more protection than a covering of silk would do.

"I know that very well, Wright. You may leave." Abby responds curtly, and the man frowns, looking to Lexa in annoyance, but does as he is told, letting the door slam loudly shut behind him.

Abby is strangely calm and when Lexa peers up at her uncertainly, she sees that the woman has turned her back and is sorting through the fish that Lexa returned with. She shifts from foot to foot unsurely as she waits, biting at her lip while Abby fingers through the slippery creatures and when she finally turns and holds out a hand, it is all Lexa can do not to startle.

"The purse," she says, simply and Lexa pulls the velvet pouch from her belt, the clinking of the coins muted against the thick fabric as she sits it in the expectant woman's outstretched hand. Abby weighs it thoughtfully for a moment, before tugging on the strings and quickly sifting through the contents.

"All accounted for." She concludes at last. "It seems you can do something, at least."

Lexa's jaw tightens in an attempt not to snap back, just watching with careful eyes as Abby places the purse beside the basket and then tilts her head curiously towards the roof, as if listening for something.

"I think it's starting to rain," She ruminates, mildly, and nods to the door. "Quite a downpour, I expect. There are logs outside that need chopping. See to it and don't return until they are all done."

Lexa hesitates, nonplussed and Abby looks to her when she notices her curiosity. "I will not be whipped?" Lexa asks, at last and there is a sharp slice of sarcasm that runs beneath her words.

"This was your last chance," Abby informs her, voice quiet and dangerous. "One more mistake and I'll have you strung up before the whole village."

\----

The ringing of an axe sliding through wood is the first thing that she hears. Rhythmic and steady and violent, it's almost an impressive sound. The second thing she hears is the muttering, strange and otherworldly, in the language that she can't understand. It's coarse and sharp and when she rounds the corner of the longhouse, sticking as close to the wall as she can in hopes of sheltering from the pouring rain, she spots Lexa.

The girl looks like a phantom through the rain and the dark, low clouds; hair long and straggly down her back, clothes sticking to her body, muscular arms raised with the axe high above her head as she brings it down. She continues to speak, not noticing Clarke's presence and her words have an odd rhythm that accompanies her work. If they were more tuneful Clarke would think she was singing a sad, mournful song, but they are not and she is left puzzled. Her small parcel is rapidly cooling in her hands, so she steps reluctantly out into the rain, bowing her head against it as she approaches Lexa.

"Clarke," Lexa lowers her axe, turning to greet the girl steadily, and Clarke holds out the offering in her hands.

"Here. Fern made some, and I thought you'd be hungry."

"Thank you," Lexa takes the small bundle of cloth in her free hand, resting the axe against the tree stump she had been chopping into and unwraps it carefully. A small, rare smile lights up her face when she sees what's inside and Clarke feels a rush of pride. She hasn't seen Lexa smile before, not a smile brought of joy and there's something satisfying about knowing she is the cause of this one.

"Come out of the rain," She beckons to her, already retreating into the small dry spot created by the overhanging roof, settling herself into the grass with her back pressed firmly against the wall, and Lexa accompanies her at a slightly slower pace, following her lead. "Are you okay? You must be getting cold."

"I am well enough," Lexa responds, placing the parcel in her lap and revealing its contents fully now that she is out of the rain. The golden crust of the pie is firm and also flaking, a warm, homely scent coming from it and Lexa smiles up at her, just briefly, before taking a bite. A surprising moan escapes her at the taste, the hot filling spilling over her lips and down her chin and she ducks her head, a remarkable flush heating her cheeks as she hurriedly tries to wipe the mess away before Clarke can see.

The blonde lets out a shocked burst of laughter, giggling when she sees Lexa try not to laugh herself. "It's okay to enjoy it, you know." Clarke teases her, softly and Lexa rolls her eyes.

"It is certainly delicious, Fern is a fine cook."

"She is," Clarke agrees easily, leaning her head back against the wall to let Lexa eat in peace, sparing her an audience as her eyes venture out to the rain lashing down around them, soaking through the hurried figures that pass by in the distance, like ghosts. Her gaze wanders against her will, eyes darting back to watch as Lexa eats ravenously, finishing the pie in a few quick bites before smiling again, licking her lips contentedly. When green eyes meet hers she feels momentarily frozen, blinking for a moment. "What were you saying?" The words leave her in a rush, almost nonsensical, and she hurries to elaborate. "I mean earlier, in your language, it sounded kind of like a song."

"You heard me?" Lexa's eyes widen slightly, flickering back to the longhouse nervously and Clarke shakes her head, reaching out before she can think not to and placing a hand on Lexa's knee.

The girl's eyes dart down to her touch in surprise, raising to stare at her and Clarke forces herself to hold her gaze, to keep her hand fixed where it is as she speaks, earnestly. "I won't tell anyone."

"Thank you," Lexa bows her head a little in recognition of her words, breaking away to look at her hands in her lap, and Clarke tears her hand away as if it has been burned. "Your mother would not be happy."

"So I understand," Clarke stifles a laugh against her fist, grinning mischievously over at Lexa, who has the makings of a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "So, what were you saying?"

"I was praying," Lexa tells her, simply, but her flush has returned and she refuses to meet Clarke's gaze, fingers ripping at the dry grass stems beneath them.

"You worship a god?" Clarke enquires, curious but soft, and Lexa's head jerks up in response, fire dancing in her eyes as she responds sharply.

"I worship  the  Gods."

She allows Lexa's anger to roll off her, sliding away so that it can't hurt her and shrugs easily. "We don't really worship gods here. Our astronomers explain the moons and the heavens to us through science."

"Your  science is heathen nonsense." Lexa retorts, darkly and Clarke tilts her head slightly, watching the girl with curious eyes.

"Tell me about your gods then. Make me believe."

"I cannot  make you believe," Lexa shakes her head, "And it will be true regardless of what you say. Our Mother, who protects and sustains us, will continue to turn the heavens whether you believe or not."

"So you believe in a mother? Like... she's the God?" Clarke probes gently, and Lexa's jaw tightens for a moment, before going slack.

"Not just the Mother. She rules over all, that is true, but there are other gods and goddesses. They are sent down to us by our Mother, to protect and guide us."

"Sent down to you?" Clarke echoes the words, brows furrowing, but she continues before Lexa can respond, the words leaving her on a breath. "The  dragons ."

Lexa looks at her for a moment, eyes narrowed, before she finally bows her head in acceptance. "The dragons are the gods, sent by our Mother. Each is named for the god it represents."

"How many gods are there?" Clarke's voice is shaking just slightly, and she presses her fingers together, eyes fixed to the floor.

"Many that we know of," Lexa considers her for a moment, Clarke can feel her attention like a finger trailing up her spine. "Even more who still remain a mystery."

"And you have seen a dragon? Up close?" Horrified fascination pulls the questions from her lips, but the moment she speaks she wishes she hadn't.

"Of course, many times. They live amongst us, though we revere them and fear them as we should. The gods are wild and free to do as they please, and while a dragon rider may claim to sit on the back of the beast, they would never presume to tame such an animal. But the gods smile upon us if we treat them with respect."

"You're from the forests, where the dragons were first found." Her heart is beating loudly in her chest, thumping through her like a vibration, but she manages to raise her head, meeting Lexa's curious expression steadily.

"The Dragon People as you call us. Yes, we are known for our affinity with the gods, they favour us and we are blessed." Lexa's eyes wander up to the grey sky, roaming it as if searching for signs of her false deity and Clarke falls into silence.

The last time she saw a dragon was four months ago, when the last attack had rained down upon their village. She had been unfortunate, out with Octavia beyond the boundaries training with oversized sticks and hunting for berries, when the shadow had passed above them. It was as if the sun had been extinguished, and when they'd turned to stare upwards they'd seen the soft, scaly belly of a great grey beast overhead, wings the length of a long house. It had only been the rise of the hills and the rocks and bushes, in which they'd been searching, that had hidden them from it. Clarke had jumped up, sounded an alarm, but it had been too late. Fire had consumed the crop fields on which her people were working. Two people had been burnt alive.

She can still remember the smell.

"Clarke?" Lexa's voice breaks her from her reverie and it is strangely soft, "You're trembling."

Blinking, she shakes her head quickly, "I asked about your leader, the woman. Anya."

Lexa jolts, eyes widening and she has never seen her so eager, so impatient before when the girl reaches out as if to grab her arm and shake her, hands falling away at the last minute. "What did you find out?" Her voice is urgent, loud and Clarke shushes her hurriedly, looking about to check they still remain unremarkable to any passersby.

"Quiet! I spoke to some of the guards. They said she was alive and that she hadn't been very useful to them," A hint of a smile flickers onto Lexa's face, "they also said that she was-" She chokes over the words at the memory of the momentary glimpse she had seen as one of the guards left the small shack. A woman hung by her arms from the ceiling, covered in blood and a patchwork of bruises, head lolling forward. The blood on the blade of the guard leaving, dripping like macabre raindrops into the dirt. The stench of pain and faeces and despair. "Injured," She offers, finally, and Lexa nods once, her head bowing a little.

"They will kill her?" She enquires, finally and Clarke swallows heavily.  

"Not if she talks." Her answer brings downturned lips and hardened eyes. "Even if she doesn't she may very well survive. She is valuable."

"As chattel." Lexa shakes her head and Clarke clenches her fists, but doesn't have the chance to respond before Lexa continues, sombrely. "And her injuries? They will not kill her?"

"No," The lie falls heavily off her tongue, and she hurriedly adds, "but I'll talk to my mother, ask her to see if she can treat her."

"I don't think your mother would be eager to help a savage," Lexa scoffs.

" Hey , she may not think much of slaves, but my mother is a healer before all else and she will help anyone in need." She stands quickly, irritation making her brusque and sharp when she looks down. "Well?"

"Ah yes," Lexa smiles faintly, levering herself to her feet. "Our trade. Very well, I will train you Clarke Griffin."

Clarke nods, satisfied, and Lexa steps out into the rain to where the pile of kindling sits beneath a sealskin cover. She squats down, raising it a little and scrambling around until she emerges with two decently sized sticks and beckons Clarke out into the rain after her. Without warning she tosses the stick through the air in her direction and Clarke fumbles, barely catching it.

Lexa nods, once, "Good, your reflexes are sharp."

She strides forward, turning to slam her makeshift weapon down furiously in Clarke's direction and it's all she can do to raise her stick, stumbling back with the impact and blocking as Lexa's strong arm swings down again and again towards her, until she tumbles over her own feet and ends up on the muddy ground. Lexa is on top of her before she can even think of moving, pressing a knee down on her wrist enough for her to let go of her weapon, crying out, sliding her stick against Clarke's neck.

"Now you are dead." Lexa informs her, quietly and Clarke's eyes flicker across her face before she uses her free hand to block against any further onslaught from her attacker's blade, hooking her fingers up into the crease in Lexa's leg, pressing harshly against the back of her knee to make the girl shudder in pain and surprise. She uses her distraction to plant her feet on the ground and push up, forcing Lexa over and onto her back, flinching away from the stick at her neck.

Her hands bury in Lexa's hair, pulling at the wet strands and the water makes their skin slippery, so they scramble, stray fingers grasping and muffled grunts escaping them until suddenly Lexa is atop her once again. Her palms are pressed down by hard knees and Lexa's full weight and the stick is pressed threateningly into her side, but Lexa is panting for breath, muddy from their fight and she feels a flare of pride rush through her when the girl speaks.

"You are dead, once again."

"Dead twice, a record." Clarke quips, voice broken by her heavy breathing, and Lexa smiles at her, eyes roaming over her face so intently that a flush begins to creep up her neck and onto her cheeks before Lexa swings herself up and off, standing and holding out a hand.

"You fought well," their fingers lace together and Lexa pulls her up easily, "I'm impressed with you."

"Thanks," She brushes at the mud clinging to her clothes and smiles sheepishly. "You weren't lying, you're lethal."

Lexa lowers her head in acknowledgment, but her smile widens, pushing at her lips. "I will make a warrior out of you yet." She promises, but there is a slight sparkle to her eyes that makes Clarke's stomach twist.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think! Soon we'll be getting into the actual action of the thing, so don't worry! I look forward to talking to you guys in the comments or over on tumblr @onemilliongoldstars.


	5. blind faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait guys. I'm awful. As always Sarah is amazing and you should go and shower her with praise over @indragram on tumblr.

_5\. blind faith_

The feeling has been settled in her stomach all day. It's odd - a strange sense of paranoia that feels remarkably familiar, like the echo of a song sang to her when she was a child, or the smell of the sky before the rain. It curls through her, a smoking tendril of unease that wraps around her heart and squeezes, and she is almost glad when Abby hands her a pack, an old, patched cloak, and a list of herbs to collect.

The moment she is out of the village she begins to run, her feet pounding against the ground, soft from two days of rainfall, and the grass rushes away beneath her, disappearing under her swift pace. It is green here, but bleak, and she slows a little to inspect the crumbling rock faces of the mountains that tower high above them. The stone is grey, like the heavy cloud that envelopes the village, and hard and strong, casting its long shadow over the villages.

She knows from Raven's stories that the dragons like to make their home in these mountains from time to time, though they often hunt and forge their nests in the tall forests that surround her own territories. She can imagine that Tyr would be happy in the mountains, surrounded by clouds to hide him from his prey, and she wonders idly if this is where he comes when he is away from her. The thought of her companion makes her heart twist with grief and for a moment her eyes flicker shut and she sees scales the colour of the night, a sheen of red rushing over them in the light, and eyes the colour of molten lava staring down at her, as if forged from the sun itself.

She was just a child when she was bonded, barely claimed as a second. She had been in the forest, spared time from her training because Anya had been injured by a stray arrow from the bow of one of her fellow seconds. It had been spring - the grass had bloomed beneath her feet as she lingered there, climbing from the soft earth, dappled in the light of the sun, to sit within the tree tops and watch a mother bird as she diligently fed her newborns. The head that had appeared by her side had made her startle, a sharp gasp escaping her, and she'd slipped, but she was caught by the nose of the creature that had alarmed her, and lowered gently to the ground. The same eyes she remembers now had burned into her and she'd felt the tug in her stomach, pulling her forward one step, then two, until she was close enough to raise a shaking palm and rest it carefully on a scaled nose.

Hot air had escaped Tyr, billowing out of his nostrils and scalding the sides of her hand just as steam does, but she had not flinched, and slowly, watching her intently, he had lowered his head to the ground at her feet.

He had been young then, just like her. Now they are both grown, and she wonders what he must think. She wonders if he misses her like she misses him - an ache as sharp as a blade through her stomach.

Lexa hurries her pace, if only to quiet her mind, and settles into a steady jog. It's nice to stretch her legs and breath the air deeply into her lungs again. The slight bounce of heavy metal against her neck is nothing but a small inconvenience, and she can almost forget its existence.

There are a few small huts and houses the further she gets from the village, overlooking pastures of grazing animals and the farmers don't bother to look her way as she runs through their land. One man even tips his hat to her - sat on a stump chewing on grass, a crook leant against his leg as he watches his flock - and she feels a pang of sympathy for these people.

The further west she goes, however, the more she sees of the destruction she has heard so much about. Fields where once crops had grown lie scorched, still smouldering a little. Dragon fire, she well knows, is difficult to extinguish and can keep burning until nothing but rock is left in its wake.

It’s no real wonder that the Sky People are so intent on wiping out dragons.

Her feet lead her to the western forest, as Abby had instructed. Her stomach still churns uncertainly, but she pushes it firmly to the side, determined to learn what she can in this precious opportunity. Their trees are thick, their woodland quiet in comparison to her own, and as she enters the tree line she realises that the forest floor is dark and dim, little of the thin light able to battle through the thick conifer trees. They are poisonous, she knows, and it explains why the meat stock is so small in the village. Few animals can eat conifer needles; the most common being the swift, flighty deer that roam the forests, quick to run and harder to catch.

She spots a few of the necessary herbs and follows the scattering of plants to where a bunch is growing together, in small clusters. There's a river nearby, she can hear a few birds tweeting and the rush of water spilling over rocks and pebbles. Straightening up, she listens, closing her eyes to enjoy the forest around her, the security that comes with being so surrounded by trees, when another sound catches her attention. Something close to a squawk or a cry and her stomach clenches angrily, pushing her into a stumbled step forwards.

Surely-

But it couldn't be.

Her feet carry her quickly, following her instincts as she moves closer to the river, down into a small ravine. There are cracked branches everywhere, and in the mud she spots - with a soaring heart - the unmistakable print of a dragon, larger than her outstretched hand, claws digging in as if struggling for purchase of the slippery ground. Carefully, she follows the prints, stepping around them until she comes to a jagged cliff face, the high edge of the ravine. The stones are loose, as if recently moved and another cry comes from somewhere above her.

It only takes a second to sling her pack around onto her back and roll up her sleeves, strong fingers grasping at the stone to haul herself upwards. She is light and strong, well suited to this task, and though her fingers bleed with the effort and she risks falling on more than one occasion, she is able to climb until she comes across a small ledge, rolling over the edge to land, panting, at the mouth to a cave.

A slight rumble, a warning, comes from inside and she hesitates, lingering at the entrance and waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim light.

Curled against the back wall, a mere few paces away, is a dragon. Still young, it is smaller than Tyr, but larger than a horse, and it’s silver eyes - the colour of steel in the summer sun - blink out at her warily as it raises itself, movements slow and laboured, onto its feet to hiss at her. Lips curl back to reveal rows of razor sharp teeth and she raises her hands, dropping her pack at the ledge and lowering her cloak along with it, before lowering herself - ever so slowly - on to the floor to watch.

It's magnificent, the colour of the deepest oceans, a silver shine to its scales as it eyes her, tilting its head suspiciously and breathing out a flicker of flames. A long tail reaches out behind it, the spikes that trail down its whole spine ending in a sharp point, and it twists, eyeing her. Her own gaze falls to its legs and she notices instantly that it is hobbling on one, putting as little weight as it can on the limb as it moves.

Time moves slowly as the dragon continues to watch her, but ever so carefully it does move towards her, tongue flickering out to taste the air around her as it does. She holds her breath and raises a hand, palm open and ready until finally it is close enough to touch, silver eyes, marred with a narrow pupil staring down at her curiously, sniffing the air around her.

In her own language she speaks, breathing out the words. "I will not harm you."

It jerks, looking at her with a perplexed expression until finally, cautiously, it lowers its head to press its snout against her palm and she lets out a long, tense breath.

"Good."

Beneath her hand the scales are warm as they always are, evidence of the ever burning furnace that exists in the belly of the beast in front of her. It watches her as she strokes down its nose once, smiling kindly and bowing her own head in recognition until it pulls away from her touch and a little further into the cave. Taking it as an invitation, she stands and follows after it.

It curls in on itself, tucking its wings in and she sits close by, not presuming to touch it but watching. She's a girl, Lexa realises, and she is as young as Tyr was when they first met. Lexa's eyes wander down to her foot, peering at it through the dim light. It is at an odd angle, clearly painful with the way she shifts and grunts, releasing a hot breath of air into the cave. It's a small injury, but enough to stop her from flying for at least a few days and while she knows it will heal swiftly Lexa can't help but feel a tinge of sympathy for the beast.

"I'm sorry," She speaks softly, and the dragon swings her head around, turning to watch her. "You will heal soon." She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. The dragon feels significant, appearing so soon after her conversation with Clarke, and she stares at it, searching for meaning between the scales.

Their silence is interrupted by the dragon's impatient rumble, the growl of its stomach, and it shifts irritably, limping in a slight pace towards the cave mouth and back again, silver eyes swinging to look at her as she stands. She keeps her distance, edging around the creature and eyeing the drop back to the ground before taking her mostly empty pack and swinging it onto her shoulder. Carefully, she inches her way back down the rocks, knees grazing against the stone and the dragon follows her to the ledge, watching her go with curious eyes but making no move to follow her.

She paces across the grass to squat beside the river, water soaking through her shoes and she cups some into her hands, splashing it over her face gratefully, before wading further out into the water, until it rises to meet her waist. It's chilly and she soon begins to shiver, but the sun is warm on the back of her neck and she is out of the wind, so she stills herself. Expert eyes dart through the water, watching the fish that swim past and for a few moments she is frozen, muscles stiff and coiled, before her hands shoot into the water and wrap around a wiggling fish.

The creature squirms, escaping her grip, and she presses her lips together, but lifts her hands again, perched to pounce. She pauses, allowing the flow of the river to calm once more. She centres herself, closing her eyes for a moment to pull herself in, as though coiling a rope. She remembers Anya's tutorage from so many years ago, the feel of her mentor and friend's hands around her waist, steadying her and muttering quiet instructions in her ear. The next time her hand darts down, she returns with a wiggling fish, holding it triumphantly until it goes limp in her hands and pressing it into the pack over her shoulder.

By the time she returns to the cave she has a bag filled with fish, which she spills out onto the cave floor. The dragon jerks forward, claws curling and reaching out to draw the food closer to herself, hissing in warning when Lexa approaches. She sits at the mouth and watches, a small smile on her face as the creature burns each one black, controlled flames spilling from her mouth, before swallowing it down eagerly. To her surprise, silver eyes fix to her again, observing her with the sparkle of intelligence and curiosity that she has come to expect from dragons, before the dragon pushes at a fish with its snout, separating it from the rest of the pile and scorching it before nudging it in Lexa's direction with a slight whine.

Slowly, carefully, she shifts forward, hand extending to take the offering and the dragon watches her calmly as she pulls the fish into her lap and peels away the blackened skin to find cooked flesh beneath. They eat peacefully together and the moment the stash of food is gone the dragon stands, turning in a staggering circle to heat the ground beneath her before curling up on the warm earth and laying her head against her claws.

Lexa takes it as her cue to leave, shrugging the pack back over her shoulder and swinging the cloak around herself, before slipping down the rock face with a silent vow to return as soon as she can.

\----

"My mother has been wondering where you've been."

Clarke's voice startles her and Lexa jolts up, head spinning to watch as the girl emerges from the shadows, where she has been leant against the wall, spinning her dagger in her hands idly, her sketchbook tucked under her arm. Her fingers pause in their task, still holding a bundle of today's herbs over the basket that Abby demands they are sorted into. Despite the cool touch of the plant, she can feel her palms beginning to heat nervously and she looks away again before she can betray herself.

"I've just been doing as she asked me to."

"I told her that," Clarke moves carefully closer, bumping her hip against the side of the table and leaning against it to look at Lexa curiously, before reaching over to grab a handful of dried berries from the bowl close by, smiling lightly. "She said ‘that would be the day’."

"Despite what your mother may think, I have been known to follow orders well in the past." Lexa remarks, easily, and though her eyes stay fixed to her task, she can see Clarke watching her, placing the small red fruit in her mouth.

"But not anymore," Clarke chuckles, throwing another few berries in her mouth and holding out her filled palm to Lexa, "You know, most slaves actually call their mistresses by their title."

Lexa eyes the offering for a moment before stretching out, the tips of her fingers brushing against Clarke's palm as she scoops up the fruit, taking one and chewing it quietly. The sweet, sharp flavour is pleasant on her tongue, and she lays the herbs down, turning to speak to Clarke properly. "I am not like most slaves, as you well know."

"Very true," Clarke snorts, inelegantly, then blushes a little, her free hand coming up to cover her mouth in surprise.

A laugh escapes Lexa at the display and she shakes her head, smiling.

"So where have you been?"

Her eyes narrow and she watches Clarke carefully as she answers. "I told you, doing what she wanted me to. The herbs are hard to find, it takes some time."

"You don't have to lie to me," Clarke blinks at her, confused, "I used to collect those herbs, I know they're easily found."

"You are an expert," She waves her hand, chasing the topic away, but Clarke clings on.

"Don't bullshit me, Lexa. You're clever, there's no way you would find it difficult to locate those herbs."

"Maybe I like to take my time," She snaps in return, looking back to her work, her neck flushing hotly under Clarke's suspicious glare. "Did you ever think of that? I was raised in the forest, it is my home. Maybe I like to stay to feel as if I am home again, to escape this _nightmare_." She flings her hand out, knocking one of the baskets to the floor with a clatter, the contents tumbling across the floor.

A pregnant silence hangs between them for a moment, both frozen, before Lexa steps around the table and drops to her knees, gathering the herbs back into the basket and brushing off any sticking mud. When she straightens, Clarke is gone.

\----

Raven is arguing hotly across a market stall when Lexa next sees her. She pauses, distracted, until the vendor claps his hands, rude and impatient, to get her attention and she turns back to him, hurriedly exchanging a few pieces of copper for some fruit. The basket weighs heavily against her arms with her purchases and she notices the hungry stares of the people surrounding her, the narrowed gazes of the poor.

Slowly, she steps away from the stall to linger close by the entrance to a dim alley, watching Raven as she speaks, waving her hands and gesturing to a mechanical piece lying on the table between her and the sturdy woman she is arguing with.

"'Scuse me," There is a slight tug on her tunic and she jolts away, startled, but when she turns she is faced with three dirty faces, small and thin, staring up at her. The girl who had spoken has an arm outstretched behind her and two young children shiver in her shelter. "Miss," The girl speaks again and Lexa can see her eyeing the basket hungrily, her gaze flickering from Lexa to the cornucopia in her hands. "Anything to spare?"

Though she is begging, the girl keeps her companions a few paces away and when Lexa inspects each small face she finds them closed off and tight, muscles tensed, ready to run at any second.

"Of course," The words fall from her mouth and before she can think about it she is dipping her hand below the thin cheesecloth that covers her items, tugging out a few pieces of fruit and dried meat to pass to them. The oldest girl takes the offerings with greedy hands and passes them back to her companions, who dig eager teeth into them, the juices spilling from their mouths and over their chins as they tear at the food.

They eat quickly, as if they fear it will be torn away from them at any second and Lexa feels a stab of sympathy for them. She has known poverty and the gnaw of a starving stomach, it is something she would wish on no one.

"You shouldn't really be doing that," A voice from behind her says and she turns hurriedly, throwing the cloth back over her basket as she takes in Octavia, hand on her hip but a light, easy smile on her face. "Abby will kill you when she realises." She tells her, raising an eyebrow and Lexa's expression furrows.

"I couldn't do nothing. And Abby has more than enough."

Octavia raises a knowing eyebrow and smiles, slightly wryly. "True. Here," she rummages in her purse and passes over a silver piece, pushing it into Lexa's hands before she can argue. "Tell Abby they had run out by the time you got there."

"Thank you," she acknowledges the gift softly, turning it over in her palm a few times before slipping it into the velvet pouch at her hip.

"It's the least I can do," Octavia shrugs, looking back to the children again, a small smile creeping onto her lips. "I remember when Bell and I had to fend for ourselves, after our mother died. It was a tough time before Bell got his job in the guard."

"My parents died when I was very young, I grew up in orphanages," It feels only fair to repay one confession with another, but she can't bear to look at Octavia as she speaks, so instead she focuses on a spot somewhere past her shoulder, jaw tight with pain. "We often went hungry."

Octavia hums softly, but Lexa is glad when she makes no further comment on it, "There aren't any orphanages here."

"Why not?"

"Not enough resources," Octavia shrugs, sadly, "Not enough food." Lexa nods, but says nothing more, her eyes wandering across to find Raven again, to watch as she slams a fist down angrily onto the table. "Thank you, by the way."

"Hmm?" Octavia's words draw her attention back again.

"For helping Clarke." Octavia clarifies, "She told me what you were doing. Do you know you could be killed for it? It's against the law to arm a slave."

A slight smile dances at the edges of her lips, but her eyes are caught by Raven moving away from the stall. "I don't care much for your rules, Octavia. Excuse me, I have to go." She pushes past the baffled girl quickly, hurrying feet leading her closer until she can reach out a grab at Raven's shoulder. "Raven!"

"Oh, Lexa," Raven comes to a jolting halt, turning to blink at her for a moment before she runs a hand over her eyes, groaning quietly, "Sorry, I'm a bit stressed out. What's up?"

"I wanted to speak with you about your catapult." Lexa falls into pace beside her, walking slowly back up the hill and Raven grunts irritably.

"God, those catapults are becoming the bane of my life."

"Can you not make them?" Lexa enquires, eagerly and Raven shakes her head, rolling her eyes.

"Of course I can, I can make anything."

Dread settles in her stomach, as hard and heavy as a stone and she draws Raven to a stop, pulling her a few paces away from the closest longhouse and speaking in a harried, urgent voice. "Raven you can't make them."

"What are you talking about?" Raven pulls her arm from Lexa's grip, wrinkling her nose in annoyance and backs a step away.

"I need you to tell them it's impossible," she insists, eyes darting out to check for nosey passersby.

"You _know_ why I can't do that." Raven retorts, sharply and Lexa lets out an impatient breath.

"Think about it," she pleads, "Will they really give you your freedom, after all of this time? Have you ever known _anyone_ to gain their freedom?"

Raven's jaw tightens, her lips pressing into a thin line and Lexa watches as she shifts uncomfortably, "Shut the hell up, Lexa. You don't anything about this place."

"I know it's built on the backs of people like you and I." Lexa argues, stepping closer and Raven's spine stiffens, straightening proudly. "Trapped people, traded like spare parts, valued only for our use to others. Is that what you really want, Raven? To be traded for the rest of your life like a piece of meat?"

"Do you have any _better_ ideas than trying to earn my way out?" Raven explodes, voice ricocheting off the buildings around them, "I can't exactly _run_ can I? And what do I have now, Lexa? Half a life, that's what."

Lexa shushes her anxiously, pushing at her shoulder until they are flush with the wall of a longhouse, cast in its shadow. "I _do_ know another way out, if you would only listen to me."

Raven purses her lips and raises an expectant eyebrow. "Hit me with it, _sparky_."

She grinds her teeth at the name, but doesn't comment on it. "My people are coming, the catapults are for them."

"Your _people_ ," Raven scoffs loudly, throwing her head back as she laughs cruelly at Lexa's words. "I actually thought you were different Lexa, but now you sound like every other delusional idiot in this village. Why would _your_ people come? No one ever comes."

"I’m asking you to _trust_ me, Raven," She hisses, glaring at the girl, and Raven's strong fist wraps into the collar of her tunic suddenly, jerking her forward until their faces are only inches apart and she can feel the girl's warm breath across her cheeks as she speaks.

"Well, unfortunately for you I stopped trusting people’s words a long time ago, so if you want my cooperation you'd better give me some sort of proof."

"Fine," Lexa jerks herself away, glaring at the girl and pulls in a slightly shaky breath before dropping her basket to the floor and turning to shrug her tunic and the undershirt beneath it up her back, exposing her skin to the cool air and Raven's scathing eyes.

"Tattoos?" Raven asks, at last, unimpressed. "That's all you've got for me?"

"They mean something," Lexa explains, fury bubbling in her stomach at her companion's carelessness. "They tell you who I am, if you understand them."

"Well I don't, so to me they just look like a big waste of time," Raven snaps and turns, making to walk away before Lexa's fingers curl around her arm again and jerk her back so hard that she almost stumbles into the other girl, their bodies so close that Lexa can lean in and mutter in her ear.

"I am the _Heda_ , Raven. The chief of my clan - of _all_ of the clans of the eastern lands."

Raven stills, her breath coming out in soft gasps, and Lexa feels her shake her head slowly. "You're not serious."

"I am more serious than I have ever been in my life." Lexa promises her, taking a slow step away and she watches Raven's dark eyes following her, wide with something between awe and suspicion.

"They would have known you were the leader, they already _have_ your leader, they're torturing her."

"My mentor, Anya," Lexa corrects her, quietly, heart clenching at the mention of the woman. "In the ship we decided she would pretend to be our Heda. I know too much, if they were to crack me then we would all be doomed. I am the leader of the twelve clans, I cannot die at our enemy's hand, not like this."

"You're not shitting me, are you?" Raven takes an unstable step back, hand reaching out to touch the wall of the longhouse to steady herself. "You're... _fuck_. So you've ridden a-"

"Yes, a dragon. I am bonded to a dragon, I am a leader, I am pretending to be a serving girl." She waves her hand impatiently, huffing as she hurries their words along. "And I am telling you that my people are coming for me."

"How can you be sure? They can't have followed the ship or they would be here by now. How do they even know where we _are_?"

"I have a plan to lead them to us, for now it is important that you _stop_ building the catapults."

Raven stares at her, her gaze long and heavy as she considers, before she presses her lips together and shakes her head, slowly. "I'm sorry Lexa, but I can't risk everything on your blind hope. I'll delay the build as long as I can, but I can't deny them. I can't deny my _only chance_."

"It's not your only chance!" Lexa tugs a hand through the strands of her hair, her voice high with distress. "I can promise you that we will repay this kindness Raven, you will have freedom and anything you could desire in my lands, I would see to it personally."

"I don't like being indebted to anyone," Raven responds, curtly, stepping away. "Especially not someone who seems to lead on _blind faith_."

"Please Raven, trust me-"

"Lexa!" Abby's harsh voice cuts through the air and Lexa stills, her eyes flickering shut with irritation as she listens to the woman approach. "Why are you disturbing Raven, I don't think you were instructed to waste time, were you?"

"No, mistress." Lexa spits out the words resentfully and Raven's eyes spark with sympathy before Lexa turns away from them to face Abby.

"You've been here almost two weeks," Abby informs her, her voice like iron. "Soon I shall start becoming less forgiving, Lexa."

"I needed her," Raven steps up beside her and Lexa resists the desire to turn to her in surprise. "She has a good eye for mechanics and I wanted her help on something to do with those catapults."

"She shouldn't have been distracted from her work," Abby fires back, sharply, and Raven bristles angrily.

"Well _I_ needed her, and _I_ distracted her, so it's _my_ fault."

"Get back to your work station, Reyes." Abby snarls the words.

"What will you do if I don't?" Raven steps a little closer, "You don't _own_ me Abby."

"Everyone owns you, Raven." She says it honestly, as if stating a fact, and Raven flinches, mouth dropping open as if to reproach her, but no sound escapes. "Come, Lexa," Abby grabs her arm, pulling her away and Lexa turns to look over her shoulder.

"Think on my offer," She tells her, lowly, and Raven nods once, her jaw stiff as she watches Abby move away with hatred in her eyes.

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, deepest apologies for the wait. I've just started uni again and my reading is highkey stressful this year. I'm two weeks into the term and I already feel behind which is atrocious to be honest. Also I lived without decent, functioning wifi on my laptop for my first week or so which was terrible. I've not replied to all of your comments, which sucks but know that I will and that I really appreciate each and every one, especially when I'm this busy. Thank you so much for them and please leave me more below or over on tumblr by the same name. Did you expect this? Are you glad about the dragon? Please just come shout at me about dragons because I LOVE THEM SO MUCH.


	6. so it is written

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> general apologies for my lateness and thank you all for your patience, especially my own personal dimple enthusiast @indragram.

_6\. so it is written_

Darkness has already cloaked the village when she finally slips from her chamber. The only light in the longhouse comes from the hot, glowing embers in the fireplace and it is only years of practice that stops her from bumping into things and waking up the entire household as she makes her way to the door, cracking it open and stepping out into the night. Outside the air is cool enough to make clouds from her breath and she lingers for a moment, breathing and watching the hot air float through the dark, like the wisps of smoke that curl in a tendril from the chimneys of the village. She imagines, for a moment, the smoke escaping a huge, hot beast with eyes like fire and claws big enough to slash her in half. A shiver runs down her back at the thought.

Pulling the hood of her cloak up to cover her light braid, she makes quick progress down the hill, easily avoiding all of the night sentries. Bellamy and Octavia live in a small hut on the western edge of the village, and she lifts a fist to wrap thrice on the creaking wood of the door, shoulders hunched as she tries to melt into the darkness of their stoop.

The door is yanked open quickly, thankfully, and Bellamy ushers her inside, hastily shutting it behind her. Inside the small space is warmed by a roaring fire. Clarke is quick to shrug off her cloak, smiling when she sees the food laid out on the round table in the corner and the figure leaning in the seat beside the fire.

Raven turns and gives her a small, tight smile in return, and Clarke can't help but see the way her posture is tensed, her fingers drumming rhythmically against the arm of the chair. Her brows furrow, but she steps towards the table, taking a hunk of dried bread and smearing a white, fishy paste over the top before wandering back towards Raven.

Bellamy approaches as she settles herself into the pile of old furs beside the fire, and offers her a cup of warm honeyed mead, which she accepts gratefully.

"Any trouble getting here?" Bellamy asks, sitting beside her and Clarke shakes her head, sipping the sweet liquid down.

"None, I know the rotations by now, Bell," She grins and nudges at him lightly, but he barely cracks a smile, his anxious eyes fixed on Raven's hunched form.

"What's going on?" She looks between them, brows furrowing, but is interrupted when Octavia appears suddenly from behind the long linen curtain, which separates her bed from the rest of the house.

The girl nods at Clarke in greeting, but is set in her task, settling onto the arm of the chair beside Raven and holding out a small clay pot of something that Clarke can't identify. There is a strong smell coming from it, one that feels familiar but she can only watch as Octavia soothes back the hair from Raven's head- and it is only at that moment that she notices the trembles running through Raven's body- and says, softly.

"It's ready, are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." Raven's voice is high and strained and Octavia drops to her knees beside her at her words, rolling up her loose pant leg. Clarke gasps at the sight, rushing forward and dropping to her knees to peer at the angry, red inflammation that surrounds Raven's leg, the veins dark and pulsing.

"What is this? How long has it been like this?" Clarke gapes up at the girl in the chair and Raven clenches her jaw, irritably.

"It's _fine_." She spits, but Clarke ploughs onwards.

"You should have been to see my mother, Raven! She would have helped!"

Raven lets out a sharp burst of laughter, bitter and angry, shaking her head, "Your mother wouldn't have seen me, Clarke."

"Of course she would have, you're being ridiculous!"

"Clarke," Octavia's voice is low, a warning and she dips her fingers into the paste, massaging it gently into Raven's skin, pausing whenever the girl flinches. "Leave it."

"Your mother and I are not on good terms," Raven tells her, a sharp gasp cutting off the rest of her words and Clarke hesitates, torn between asking more and letting it rest.

Finally, she mutters "Let me do it." Octavia falters, looking up to where Raven is sat, stone faced and Clarke insists, impatiently. "I've been working in the wards since I was ten, I've seen this before."

"Fine," Octavia reluctantly relinquishes the paste into her hands and she sets about massaging it into the tender skin, speaking as she does.

"You need to rest this, keep it elevated. I'd prescribe bed rest for at least four days."

"I don't have the time _or_ the luxury of bed rest," Raven snaps, frustrated. "I have to get the catapults done, Jaha's given me a deadline."

"Catapults?" Her fingers pause, eyes peering up through the dim light to blink at her, "You're building catapults?"

"It's what she came here to tell us before we noticed she could barely walk," Bellamy supplies sombrely from behind her, and Raven throws him an angry glare.

"For the dragons," Clarke concludes, aloud, and Octavia nods in agreement. Clarke lets out a long, shuddering sigh before admitting, quietly. "Not a bad idea."

"There are other plans as well," Bellamy tells her, "Huge crossbows, big enough to fire harpoons at them."

"It'll certainly bring them down." Clarke returns to her work on Raven's leg, rubbing at the flesh softly, and she is surprised when Raven jerks away from her ministrations.

"How can you speak like this?" She hisses, staring at them all with widened eyes, "How can you talk about killing innocent creatures?"

"They aren't innocent," Bellamy refutes, frowning as he crosses his arms across his chest. "They're killers Raven, you know that."

"Only because we fear them... and probably because you've been capturing dragon riders for years. They feel your hostility against their people."

"We're trying to change the slavery," Clarke argues, sitting back on her haunches as Octavia shifts uncomfortably on her feet beside her. "But the animals are monsters."

"They're not, they're magnificent," Raven insists, hotly, "And if you would just get your heads out of your asses then you would _see_ that."

"They _kill people_ , Raven." Clarke snaps, leaning forward again to take her leg back into her hands, running soothing circles with her thumbs on the sore skin.

"So do you," Raven tells her, quietly, "I should know, my whole island is gone. We're not firing arrows at any of you, are we?”

The silence that settles around the room is harsh, weighing heavily on the shoulders of each of them and later, when Bellamy presses the bundle of cloth into her hands, he hesitates and says, gently. "Maybe we should try to find some source of peace with the dragons."

The bundle clanks in her hands as she pulls it away, jaw clenched and eyes hard.

"There is no peace with the dragons, Bellamy."

\----

"Lexa!"

The girl jolts from where she is rhythmically chopping out herbs, fingers faltering for a second before she continues, eyes not moving from her work as she waits for Clarke to approach her.

"Yes, Clarke?"

Clarke moves hesitantly forward, suddenly aware that she has only just extracted herself from her bed, while Lexa has surely been up for hours and her hair is wild and messy, her tunic askew. They are alone in the longhouse - Fern is out assisting her mother in the wards - and so when Lexa looks up Clarke meets her eyes with a steady, determined challenge.

"Would you like me to fetch you a refreshment? Perhaps a late breakfast?" The words are just as they should be, but Lexa's voice is harshly sarcastic as it scrapes over the words, and it makes Clarke smile, just a little.

"No, thank you. I can do it myself." She lingers a few inches away from the table, watching as Lexa gets back to her slicing. Clarke is momentarily entranced by the regular, easy movement of the brunette’s fingers, the slight ripple of muscle in her arms and in her neck, so when Lexa speaks it startles her.

"If you wish to stare at me all morning I could stop working, would that make it easier?"

A blush flashes up her neck to settle in her cheeks and she jolts away, clearing her throat slightly as she shakes her head, turning to the fire. "No! No, of course not." She blames her blush on the heat of the fire as she collects a bowl and spoons in some of the stew bubbling in an iron pot over the flames. Holding it in her hands, she takes a silent, shuddering breath before turning back, flushing again when she realises that Lexa is watching her. "I actually wanted to ask you about our... arrangement."

"I see," Lexa's face is stoic, as still as marble and Clarke continues uncertainly.

"I'd like us to train again."

"I can't today," Lexa dismisses her with the wave of her hand, surprisingly easy, and goes back to her task.

"Why?"

"Well," She scoops the last of the herbs up and places them in a basket, before leaning down to collect the piled basket of clothing beside her. "I have to set these out to air, and then your mother bid me to collect her more moon blossom."

"Moon blossom?" Clarke frowns, following her as she turns and starts outside, keeping a quick step behind Lexa on her route to the stretched washing line, which runs behind the longhouse. "But they flower everywhere."

"Not at the moment," Lexa refuses to look at her as she begins meticulously swinging material over the line, "Perhaps it is the wrong season for it."

"It isn't," Clarke remarks, both puzzled and slightly infuriated by Lexa's calm words. "I collected those herbs for years, Lexa, I know when they flower."

"Then it is an anomaly because they are proving difficult to locate in any great numbers," Lexa tells her, easily, and Clarke hesitates for a moment, before reaching out to touch Lexa's hand as she goes to draw out another sheet. Green eyes snap to her and for a moment they are both frozen, staring, before Lexa jerks her hand away as if burnt.

"I could help you, if you want?"

Lexa lets out a quiet sigh, turning fully to look at her and when she speaks it is with a gentle voice, murmuring quietly. "While I appreciate the offer, I do very much like the time to myself."

"Oh, yeah of course." She stays where she is, watching as Lexa starts folding a long cotton sheet along the line. "Maybe I could come with you at first..." she offers, unable to stop herself, "Then I could show you where to gather the herbs and we could... spend some time together. Then I could leave, you could be alone, and my mother would be none the wiser."

"I don't think so, Clarke." She sounds sharp, and Clarke bristles indignantly.

"It would only be sensible," She argues, and Lexa rounds on her so suddenly that she stumbles back a pace.

"Clarke, we are not friends. Stop pushing this. I am your _slave_ , I have a _chain_ around my neck to prove it. I will not be _friends_ with my _mistress_."

The words slam into her, one after another, and the blonde is left gaping at Lexa's turned back. And when Lexa gathers her empty basket and storms away, Clarke can't muster the energy to follow her.

\----

The clink of metal against metal echoes loudly through the otherwise quiet house and she freezes, her body still hunched over to peer into the depths beneath the bed, ears pricked for any disturbance from the rest of the longhouse. When none come, she lets out a long, shaky breath, before carefully extracting the sword from its soft packaging, wrapped in the rags Bellamy had given her. The blade gleams in the light from the candelabra on the table across the room and she swings it, experimentally, as though unable to stop herself. A shiver runs through her - like a breath of cold air - at the deceptively soft swish of the metal.

She can hear her mother's voice outside the door, followed by a quiet reply that she thinks must be Lexa.She throws the sword onto her furs, then reaches down for the second weapon, which is still stowed under her bed. Carefully, she wraps them back up in the rag, and slides them into the satchel, which she then swings onto her back, grunting at the weight.

The bang of the door slamming shut pushes her forward on stumbling feet, bursting out of her room so loudly that Fern and her mother turn to look at her, frowning at her sudden arrival. Her eyes meet the younger girl's, and Fern immediately turns away, flushing guiltily as her hands hurry to return to the dedicated task of chopping through old carrots. Her mother is not so easily cowed and she stands from her seat at her medical table to step towards her.

"Clarke, are you going somewhere?" Eyes narrowed with suspicion look over at her, even as she edges her way towards the door, and Clarke smiles faintly, nodding.

"Yeah, uh, just riding practice, with Bellamy." Her hands tighten over the straps of her bag and she shifts, halting unwillingly at the door.

"Riding practice?" Her mother's frown furrows even further, "The guard are allowing you time with a horse?"

"Well," She twists her fingers around the coarse leather, the heat rising to her cheeks a sure sign of her guilt. "Bell may have twisted their arms a little, you know what it's like."

Her mother rolls her eyes, smiling wryly, "I do. Have fun, be safe."

"I will, thanks," Even freed she lingers, looking over at the woman as she sits slowly back into her seat, and asking, "Uh, did I hear Lexa going out?"

"You did," Abby doesn't look up from her work, watching with concentration as she adds a few teaspoons of thyme to the mixture she's brewing. "I sent her to collect moonshine. She had better return with plenty, otherwise I'll start sending you out there again."

"Right, right. Thanks." She slips through the door before any more of her attention can be commanded away. Each step seems to make the weapons in her bag clank more obviously against her back, and she imagines she can hear the rattle vibrating through her bones, shaking her body with her guilt, ducking her head as she passes sentries and patrolling guards.

It seems a miracle that she makes it out of the village and every passing step becomes lighter as she leaves behind her fear of capture. Clarke doesn't think that Jaha would do much to her, due to her place as Abby's daughter, but she can only imagine what would happen to Lexa if the truth came out. Images of Anya's prone body flash through her mind and she casts them away impatiently before the fear can plant itself deep in her heart and take root there.

People call to her from the outer plantations, farmers who are perched on rocks, or the ones wandering through their fields, driving away the crows that linger there and peck away their precious crops. She shouts her greetings back, smiling at them - the village is small, and she knows almost everyone by name. These people have seen her grow up, many saw her when she was a baby in her mother's arms, some even sent flowers when her father passed away. She feels a stirring of warmth for them, a gratitude of some sort for their interest in her; It’s nice to be known.

Beneath her feet the grass becomes drier, the land dustier and more parched for rain or relief, and she steels herself for the sight she knows is coming. Before long she is surrounded by vast expanses of darkened fields, which stare her starkly in the face, and she falters for a second, feet stumbling over the gnarled earth. She remembers these fields bright and blooming with rapeseed and corn, but now all that remains is darkness and ash and soot. She's seen it more times than she can count over her short life time, has been witness to the fire and the pain and the darkness, but her heart still slams in her chest at the sight, her head still ducks and her feet still hurry over the charcoal ground towards the safety of the forest beyond.

The trees provide a welcome shelter, covering the sky, keeping her hidden beneath them and blocking peering, anxious eyes from staring up into the grey clouds in search of shadows. She has come to know the forest well, and her feet lead her, automatically pacing through the woods. She feels odd; something’s twisting in her stomach, like deja vu, or nostalgia and she hesitates, feet pausing by an upturned root, touching uncertainly at her stomach. Her head is spinning slightly after just a few minutes of walking, and the swords press heavily into her spine. Turning, she scans the woods, before starting up a steady pace in the direction of the stream. She'll stop there for a moment and cool down before beginning her search for Lexa.

By the time the familiar clearing opens up she is so dizzy that she is having to hold onto tree trunks for support Her stomach is somersaulting over itself, and she falls stiffly to her knees beside the river splashing icy water from the high mountains over her flushed cheeks so rapidly that she splutters, gasping loudly for breath. The skittering of stones draws her attention and she whips around, staring through bleary eyes as a figure approaches, still gasping for breath, almost heaving.

"Clarke," Though the figure is just a spot of darkness to her unfocused eyes, the voice is unmistakable.

"Lexa?" She manages to croak out the word before tumbling forward onto her hands in the water. Careful fingers pull her hair back from her face, soothing along her cheeks and rubbing against her back as Lexa attempts to soothe her.

"Calm, calm. Find peace, Clarke."

The words seem to come to her from far away, as if she is falling, grasping desperately for anything she can find to grab on and hold herself up. Only Lexa's voice keeps her grounded and she reaches out, soaked hands grasping for her.

"There's something wrong!"

"Nothing is wrong," Lexa is so steady and calm that it almost makes Clarke reel further. Tender hands on her back ease her upwards and coax her gently onto her knees, her back straight and her head lolls back, hitting Lexa's shoulder and lying there. "Drink," Lexa holds a flask up to her lips, pressing the sealskin rim to her lip insistently and as water slides down her throat she feels the heaving of her stomach subside, almost miraculously. She reaches and grabs the flask, drinking greedily and as quickly as it had appeared, the turning of her stomach and the throbbing of her head vanishes, leaving only an echo behind.

She stays where she is, gathering her breath for a moment and it's only when she feels Lexa shift a little behind her that she pulls herself up, turning to smile a gratefully at the girl.

"Thank you," She watches as Lexa pushes herself to her feet, and wipes the back of her hand self consciously against her mouth, flushing. "I don't know what that was."

"I think I do," Lexa doesn't elaborate, stepping back to look at her, "Can you stand?"

"Yeah, I think so." Slowly, knees shaking, she rises onto her feet. "I actually came to find you," She swings her heavy bag down to the ground and reaches inside the pull out one of the blades, tossing it to Lexa, who catches it expertly. "I thought we could train properly out here."

Lexa shifts, eyes darting anxiously away before meeting hers again. "I don't have time, Clarke, I told you."

"That's why I'm here to help you! My mother says she won't send you out any more if you return empty handed this time. Come on, Lexa." Playfully, she dances forward with her sword and brings it down against her.

Lexa raises her blade automatically and the clashing of steel rings around the clearing so loudly that birds fly from the nearby trees, startled and squawking. Clarke turns to watch them go, laughing softly but her laughter dies in her throat when she hears the warning growl and the crunch of stone and earth.

The first thing she sees when she turns is the silver of the eyes staring out at her. Wide, with a slitted black pupil the colour of the night, the silver around them seems to swirl and shift, as if it were molten. It shifts, and scales ripple over strong muscles like waves. Curved claws dig into the rock as it prowls downwards to stand in the clearing with them. Outstretched wings, blue and faded, like those of a bat, twitch with each movement and sharp teeth are exposed when it hisses at them. She can hear herself gasping for breath, struggling to haul air into her lungs, and Lexa's eyes turn to her, wide with concern.

"Clarke," She reaches out a hand as if to soothe her, but Clarke jerks away.

"Don't! Lexa, we have to _go_!"

"No, she isn't going to hurt us." Lexa's eyes harden and when  she steps towards the dragon, Clarke feels her stomach twist furiously.

"Lexa!" The word is cut off, croaking out into silence when she sees the dragon turn to acknowledge Lexa's steady, careful approach. She raises her hand, as if in warning and the beast stays still, leaning into her when Lexa's gently runs a hand over its skull.

"See?" She turns and her green eyes are bright with happiness, "She is safe."

"It's going to eat us," She's still trembling, and the sound of her voice catches the dragon's attention. It takes a step forward and she stumbles back, unable to tear her eyes away from glowing eyes and shimmering scales. "Lexa please, we have to _run_."

"You cannot run from a dragon, Clarke." Lexa seems almost impatient, and she stands, hands on her hips as the dragon approaches Clarke, bearing its teeth.

Fear clutches at her, shoves her backwards until her back collides with the firm trunk of a tree, and she is frozen, trembling. Her breathing comes in harsh tugs of air, in and out, in and out, close to hyperventilating and she feels as if she could throw up at any moment.

"Lexa _please_ ," Her words are scrambled, frantic. "We have to go, they're _killers."_

"You're wrong, Clarke. A dragon will respect you as long as you respect it." Lexa intones but Clarke can't see her now. She is caught in silver eyes, drowning in them and all she can do is sob, the tears running down her cheeks without her noticing.

"They killed my _dad_. He was trying to _save_ one it burnt him _alive_!"

Lexa might respond, but Clarke is barely able to register her existence. Her stomach is in knots, her head thumping with an acute pain as the dragon's face hovers inches away from hers. Slanted nostrils flare, sniffing at her and large eyes bore into her own. When it blinks there is a sheen, two eyelids in effect, and suddenly all she can wonder is why this creature has no eyelashes. The eyes that stare at her seem almost intelligent, and when the dragon tilts her head forward to nudge against Clarke's nose just once, with her snout, a hot exhalation escapes her at the warmth of her skin and the softness of her scales.

The dragon's head tilts, observing her closely and curiously. She seems almost empathetic, scalding breath escaping her nostrils and brushing against Clarke's skin, rising sweat to rest against her flesh.

"Touch her, Clarke," Lexa's voice returns to her, soft with gentle encouragement this time. "Let her know you too are a friend."

Slowly, trembling like a leaf on the season’s strong winds, she raises a hand, palm facing the creature, and rests it ever-so-carefully on her snout, fingers splayed like a war mask over the dragon’s gleaming scales, feeling the heat beneath her hand.

They remain frozen that way for a few minutes, staring at each other, and Clarke imagines that she can see the cosmos in this dragon's eyes, that she can see the moon and the stars and the galaxies, and that they whisper her an invite that carries along her skin and settles in her heart. Finally, slowly, the dragon pulls away and takes one step back, before bowing its head and resting it against the grass beside her feet. Her stomach soars, though she can't place why, and she hears Lexa's sharp intake of breath from behind the dragon.

"What?" The words are a murmur, speaking any louder feels like a sin.

Lexa takes a stumbling pace forward, staring between them in wonder and shaking her head in disbelief. "You are bonded." She says at last. "Wherever you go, she will be yours and you will be hers. It is written so, by the Mother."

The dragon raises her head and Clarke stares at her, captured by the light of the night shining from her eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully the length/content of chapters is making up for the wait. I would like to promise to be faster from now on, but I can't guarrantee anything. I'm currently in my second year of study for my degree and it's really kicked in this year, which is why updates are taking so long. Thank you so much for your feedback and for your patience, it really means so so much to me! Feel free to hit me up here or on tumblr @onemilliongoldstars, I like to chat even though I'm strapped for time! Also I have a tag for this fic running on tumblr, either 'vau' or follow the link on the right of my blog if you want previews and heartbreak.


	7. destined for war

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 100 returns TOMORROW! I'm still in the middle of mind numbing exams but I whipped this up and hopefully the length makes up for the wait.

  1. _destined for war_



The flesh of the fish, fresh and tender, breaks beneath her fingers as she tears away a long strip, dropping it into her mouth and chewing hungrily. She can taste the water, the freshness so different from the small, dried salt water fish that come from their overworked harbours, or the mild, chewy shellfish found in the crevices around the rocky cliff faces. Her tongue catches a lingering scrap of charred skin from the side of her finger and the rich, earthy taste draws her eyes up to look at the creature in front of her.

The dragon sits a few paces away, curled close to both her and Lexa, and sharp teeth rip through the burnt remains of the fish. It's strange and fascinating to watch her gather the food in her mouth and tip her head back, exposing a scaly neck to swallow it down hastily, before returning to the food. Now, Clarke feels almost endeared to her. Fear has melted away, and beneath it lies affection and longing for something that she can't quite understand.

Lexa, who is sitting on the other side of her, keeps casting her uncertain glances, eyes flickering away before Clarke can catch them. It doesn't matter, Clarke knows she's watching, and she knows that Lexa knows she knows. It doesn't stop either of them.

"Do you have a name for her?"  They've been sat in silence for so long that the question startles her, and she reluctantly tears her eyes away from the dragon to frown at Lexa.

"A name?"

"Names are crucial for a bond," Lexa picks at the skin of the fish in her lap, tugging away the darkened scales absently. "Though they sometimes take some time to settle."

"How do you know all of this?" Clarke shifts, turning so that she can look at Lexa more easily and the dragon clearly senses the change in their conversation because her head rolls up to watch them, tongue flicking out to taste the air.

Lexa's eyes move back to the food in her lap. "I've told you, it is well known among my people."

"Bullshit, you know way too much." She glares and the dragon tilts her head forward, closer to Clarke. Lexa watches the movement and Clarke thinks she sees her mouth twitch into a smile, before she sighs and pushes the fish away.

"Fine, I haven't been totally honest with you." She admits, easily and Clarke's eyebrows shoot up, waiting expectantly as Lexa struggles with her words for a moment. "I only tell you this so that I can properly instruct you." She warns, quietly, "I was a second to my Heda, not just her server. She was my mentor and when I was thirteen I was bonded with a dragon. It set me out as a future general, a leader to my people. My mentor taught me all I know of dragons." Her green eyes are so serious they're almost grey and she shifts forward, staring at Clarke intently. "We are no longer divided Clarke. We are not Sky and Trees, or slave and mistress; we are both dragon riders now."

"So... you were a leader?" Clarke slides another slice of flesh off the fish. It is almost jarring how unsurprised she is by this revelation, it seems right that Lexa would be more than just a serving girl. She runs through her encounters with Lexa in her head and wonders, vaguely, how she could have missed the way the girl holds herself, the tilt of her head and the steely look in her eyes that clearly sets her out as something _other_ , something more.

"I was to be a leader." Lexa corrects her, shaking her head. "But I am bonded with a dragon so I know what you are feeling. You must find a name soon."

"Why?" Clarke counters easily, watching from the corner of her eye as the dragon goes back to her food, clearly sensing the tension dissipate between them.

"An unnamed dragon is just a vessel, with no soul. If the god is not observed then the creature can never be fully tied to us." Lexa stands, pacing around the dragon, who raises her head again to watch her and reaches out a hand carefully, showing her empty palm to the creature before settling it on her neck, rubbing soothingly. "At home," She begins, gently tracking her hand down the long, curving neck of the dragon, and Clarke feels a flush of jealousy run through her as the dragon relaxes into her touch, "We take those who are newly bonded with their dragons to the _plan kom daity_ ," Clarke's brows furrow and Lexa clearly notices because she smiles, just a little, and offers, "The women of the gods. They are sacred, people who can feel the touch of the spirits and decipher their meanings. They help you find the god that inhabits your dragon."

"Did they help you?" She stands, slowly and moves inside the slight circle that the dragon has created with her body. The beast doesn't flinch, and Clarke feels a strange contentment when she runs her palm down the warm, smooth scales that cover her back, inspecting them closely, watching their colour fade from blue to the slightest hint of silver.

"They did." Lexa acknowledges, after a moment. "But they are not here and I will have to help you as best I can."

"Okay," She turns, watching the girl over the arching back of the dragon between them, catching and keeping her gaze as she speaks. "What do I do?"

Lexa's eyes narrow a little, and Clarke feels them roam over her for a second before Lexa finally shifts backwards and says, calmly. "Place a hand on her, close your eyes." Doing as instructed, Clarke’s heart begin to thump against her ribs. She can feel the gentle rise and fall of the dragon's breath beneath her, the heat as it shifts below her hand and her stomach turns nervously, waiting for further instruction. When Lexa's voice comes again it is closer and if she strains to listen, she can hear footsteps approaching her quietly. "Now centre yourself and feel for her. She is a part of you now, Clarke, she is etched into your heart. Search for her."

She opens her mouth to protest, brows furrowing in confusion, but then snaps it shut again. Slowly, carefully, and feeling slightly foolish, Clarke concentrates, taking mental track of her body, searching herself for any sort of foreign presence. "I can't find her," The words escape her, irritated, and her breath is stolen when she feels a hand against her waist.

Another comes to join it, and then Lexa's hands are pressed against her, fingers splayed between her ribs, beneath her breasts, just above her diaphragm. Lexa's voice comes in her ear, silken and smooth, the colour of newly turned earth and the darkest green of the highest leaves. "Breathe, focus yourself. _Feel_ Clarke, in your soul you will find fire." She presses slightly harder, until Clarke can feel her breasts push against her back and her breathing stutters. " _Feel_." The instruction is hoarse in her ear and the sound seems to rush through her, setting her veins alight until it centres of her stomach just below Lexa's hands.

A gasp escapes her and she feels Lexa's lips curl up into a small, satisfied smile against the delicate shell of her ear. "Yes," the girl praises, "The _faya kom keyron_. The fire of the soul."

"What am I looking for?" Her voice trembles, and she feels as if she is struggling to control the heat coursing through her body, making her tremble and shiver as she curls her fingers against the warm, scaled skin.

"A feeling, the one you felt when you were bonded. Your dragon knows what she wants, she knows who she is and she will have told you, you just have to find it. How do you feel around her, Clarke?"

"Safe," The words escapes her on a breath. She isn't sure where it comes from, can't even remember thinking it, but something about it feels irrevocably and unflinchingly true. "She will protect me and I will protect her."

"Safety," Lexa is smiling again, Clarke can tell from the way that she speaks. Her hands loosen around Clarke's waist and when she steps away, Clarke cannot deny missing her warmth pressed so closely behind her. " _Hlin_ , the goddess of protection. Fair and beautiful and brave." Eyes that are now settled to the green of moss growing on the bark of a tree that is older than her people turn to smile at her, gentle and kind. "Seems fitting."

"So... that's her name?" She steps away, still staring at the dragon in front of her. "Hlin?"

The dragon's head, almost as if on cue, lifts and swivels to look at her.

"It seems so." Lexa stands a few paces away, observing her with something close to pride and Clarke figures she's earned the right to ask a few questions.

"What did you feel? In your... soul fire?"

Lexa's eyes dart away and she stares down at Hlin for a long few moments, staring at her as if she is committing her to memory. "I felt as if I were flying," When she speaks she is so quiet that Clarke steps closer. "And I felt the victory and joy it would bring me."

"And what god inhabits your dragon?" She keeps her voice low, soft and gentle.

" _Tyr_ ," The way Lexa says the word makes her eyes move up, watching the way the girl's eyes harden and her jaw clenches - attempts to disguise the longing written in the lines that mar her sharp, angular face. "God of the skies," Her eyes dart to meet Clarke's, "And war."

\----

She's distracted. It's hard not to be, she's so close to Lexa that she can see the way the firelight gleams off her smooth, tanned skin, the few strands of her dark hair hanging in twisted, imperfect spirals over her soft cheeks and her bottom lip, full and plump, caught between two rows of small teeth as she concentrates.

"You see the strength of the jaw?" Clarke's eyes snap down to the parchment rolled out on the dirt in front of them, following the line of the charcoal in Lexa's fingers. On the page in front of them is a sketch, crude but easy enough to follow, of Hlin.

"The muscles in the jaw are some of the strongest. They use it to snap the neck of their prey, though not much can escape dragon fire." Lexa's hand shifts, her arm brushing against Clarke's and the blonde tries not to stiffen, instead moving forward to peer down at the parchment. Lexa circles the belly of the dragon in a few wide, easy strokes and then taps it once with her charcoal.

"This is where the fire is created. The only way to extinguish a dragon's flame is to slice its stomach, which is always fiercely protected by hardened scales."

"How do you know all of this?" Clarke can feel Lexa's eyes upon her, but she doesn't raise her gaze, keeping it fixed solidly to the parchment. She hopes the burning in her cheeks will be put down to the scalding fire close to them.

"My people have long studied dragons." Lexa's voice is softer and Clarke finally gathers the courage to raise her eyes, only to find them ensnared in Lexa's. She looks wise beyond her years, her back straight and her hair braided tightly down the back of her head, face all sharp angles and high cheekbones and Clarke swallows against a suddenly dry throat as the girl continues. "They are sacred to us, but it is important that we understand their bodies so that we can care for them when we need to. A dragon rider is connected to their dragon," Her eyes are intense, fixed and determined, "I know you can feel it."

She reaches across the parchment to touch tentatively at the spot just above her diaphragm, skating gentle fingertips across it and Clarke is embarrassed to feel herself shiver at the contact. Lexa does her the decency of ignoring her response, instead pulling away and motioning to the parchment again.

"That connection that you feel is part of the bond between yourself and your dragon. She will feel your happiness, your pain, your fear. If you are in danger or reach out for her, she will come but it works vice versa as well. You can feel _her_ , and if she is in distress your body will cry out to go to her."

Clarke traces her fingers in a shaking line across her body, where Lexa's had been only moments before and when she looks up her eyes are wide. "I can't feel anything now?"

"No, the feeling is mostly dormant," Lexa is smiling a little, but it is soft and affectionate and Clarke almost preens to be the focus of that smile. "Or else it would be terribly distracting. If you reach out though, you will be able to feel her. Try."

The gentle prompting is all she needs and she closes her eyes obediently, palms resting against her knees as she reaches out, feeling through her body and stilling every muscle in an attempt to reach Hlin. Suddenly there is warmth, a jolt of it forming into a ball inside of her and her eyes snap open, a gasp rushing from her as she feels the warmth shift as if alive, as if acknowledging her.

"Easy," Lexa placates her and the hand that comes to rest over one of hers is enough to divert her attention, the connection flickering out to the lowest burning embers.

"I could feel her," The words escape her breathless and wonder filled.

"Yes," Lexa smiles, inclining her head, "It will be that way so long as you are not too far from each other."

Her brows furrow and her query is aired before she can hesitate. "Can you feel Tyr?"

Lexa swallows, eyes narrowing and lips twisting downwards at her question. Her hand falls from Clarke's like a dead weight and she reaches out to take hold of the charcoal again as she speaks, voice clear and crisp and devoid of feeling. "No. He is too far away. We are separated."

"I'm sorry," It's useless, a vague apology come too late to soften the damage, but she voices it anyway because she means it.

Lexa waves a hand and when she looks up the fleeting ghost of grief is gone from her eyes, "It is done."

Silence settles between them, like dust falling into the cracks that cover in the bridge they are slowly building, and Clarke fidgets, wrapping her fingers in and out of each other as she thinks on what to say.

"So what-"

"I was wondering-"

They both stumble to a stop, gesturing uselessly at one another.

"No, please," Clarke stutters at last, waving impatiently in her direction until Lexa inclines her head and says, quietly.

"I wanted to ask you about something you said earlier. Your father-"

"Clarke?" Abby's voice, ringing through the longhouse, sends them reeling apart like coin spilled upon the floor. Clarke snatches up the paper between them hurriedly, collecting it into her hands and folding it haphazardly as she stands and turns to look at her mother, smiling wanly.

"Hey, how was the surgery?"

"Long," Abby sighs, swinging her jacket from around her shoulders and holding it out. "Lexa, take this for cleaning."

Lexa glances up at her and rises fluidly, but Clarke steps forward, holding out a hand expectantly. "Give it to me, I can take it."

"She isn't doing anything," Abby's hand stays curled around the jacket even when Clarke takes it in her hands and she frowns just slightly. "What's gotten into you, Clarke?"

"I'm just up," She shrugs innocently and tugs the jacket out of her mother's hands, wrapping it over her arm. "I'll put it in with the rest," She turns before her mother can say anything, making her way to the darker corners of the longhouse and bending to let the jacket fall into the wicker basket Lexa and Fern maintain.

Looking up, she watches for a moment as her mother beckons Lexa closer and speaks in a low voice. Their gazes flicker to her once, but upon seeing Clarke watching her mother pushes at Lexa's shoulder a little and tilts them both away. By the light of a candle, she looks back to the jacket and her hands slip into the pockets, digging through them hurriedly. Her fingers curl around a piece of paper, a small, thin bit of parchment and she grabs at it, pushing it into her pocket beside the drawing Lexa had created.

Spinning on her heel, she strides back towards her mother and Lexa, who eyes her curiously.

"Be sure the fire is banked for the night and you may retire," Abby is telling her and Clarke frowns when her mother's eyes dart to hers before flickering away nervously. "Clarke, I've been wanting to speak with you."

Lexa clearly takes this as her leave to go, stepping back towards the fire and Clarke is left alone with her mother, who sits on the bench against the main table and pats the spot beside her invitingly, watching until Clarke sinks down unwillingly.

"I've heard something... upsetting." Her mother begins and Clarke feels herself bristle, eyes darting over to Lexa almost automatically.

"Yeah?" Her fingers shift and rub against one another nervously and she clasps them together in her lap, trying for nonchalance. "Does it affect me?"

"Yes," Abby sighs, eyes drawn with distress and for a moment Clarke's heart softens and she reaches out, touching at her mother's shoulder carefully.

"Hey, whatever it is it'll be okay."

"It's not okay though," Her mother doesn't shrug away from her touch but she remains tense and stiff. "It's a complete breakdown in propriety."

"Oh?" Her heart thumps so loudly in her chest that she wonders whether her mother can hear it, whether Abby can sense her treachery through the layers of hide and cotton that cover her. "What is it?"

"This could be difficult for you to hear," Abby warns, sincerely, and at her nod continues, "I have heard that Finn has been... _consorting_ with Raven Reyes."

"What?" Her brows furrow, shock twisting her features but her mother ploughs on.

"I know! It's completely irresponsible of the boy, when he could be with a free woman-"

"Mother," She cuts through before her mother can get into her stride. She can feel Lexa's eyes on them, watching the conversation curiously and the back of her neck heats up slightly at the thought of green eyes fixed on her. "Finn and I have been over for a long time! He's free to be with whoever he wants to."

"You don't have to be strong for me," Abby shakes her head, eyes soft with misplaced concern. "I know you still have feelings for him."

"I didn't- I _don't_!" She corrects herself, feeling harried and irritable, caught between her mother's bigoted concern and Lexa curiosity. "Finn and I haven't been together since the last harvest, mother! If he's happy with Raven then he should be with her."

"But Raven is a slave, Clarke," Abby's voice clicks sharply over the word and she tries not to flinch. "An insubordinate one at that."

"It wouldn't be the first time a free person was bound with a slave, maybe he can free her. _Besides_ ," She can feel herself becoming riled up, her voice rising angrily, "She's the best mechanic we've ever had, she's brilliantly intelligent, witty-"

"Have you been speaking with her?" Her mother looks startled and she catches herself, cringing just slightly at her words.

"Uh, no, I mean only in passing. But I know that she's brilliant, everyone does. Let them be together."

"You know I was hoping that Finn would settle with you," Abby muses, quietly, "But I suppose there's always the Blake boy-"

"Mother," she cuts her off before she can continue, "Finn wanted to settle with me, but I didn't want to. I _don't_ want to, you know that."

"Well you say that now," Abby fixes her with a piercing look, "I know you're full of _wanderlust_ Clarke, but when you're older you'll wish you'd settled down, started a family of your own."

"I assure you I won't," she stands so quickly that the bench jolts, glaring down at the woman. "Forget about Finn, forget about Bellamy, I don't care about _any_ of them mother, no matter how many suitors you push my way."

Behind them the door crashes open, letting in a blast of cool air and a panting face appears, a man with reddened cheeks and hair wild from the wind. He stumbles to a stop in the doorway, clearly sensing the tension in the room but then turns to Abby and says, hurriedly.

"Mistress Griffin," His words are fractured by gasps, "You must come, my wife is in labour and she says it won't be long."

"Of course Ramsay," Abby is immediately a professional, bending to grab her physician's bag from beside the door and swinging a fur lined cloak around her shoulders. She turns back to Clarke at the door, fixing her with a piercing stare and warning. "This conversation isn't finished."

The door slams shut and Clarke lets out a hiss of irritation, turning to slam the dagger strapped to her thigh into the wood of the table, making it splinter beneath her fingers. Yanking it back with a harsh tug, she raises her eyes to the fire and finds the room strangely empty.

Momentarily confused, she turns in a full circle, peering through the longhouse for any sign of Lexa before she hears the pad of bare feet against the hay loft above her head. Eyes widening a little, she steps hesitantly towards the ladder, pausing for a second to steel herself, before climbing the rickety contraption up into the dim space above her. Though she's lived in the same house all her life, she has never been up into the loft. She remembers her mother's strict instructions not to, that it was not her place to invade the private spaces given over to those who served them, and she remembers her father's silence on the matter.

He picked his battles wisely.

The loft is filled with the thick, musky scent of hay and only a small, flickering candle lights the dark expanse, the light too thin to reach the high rafters above them. In the corner there is an over turned crate where the candle rests and a pile of hay separated from the rest and covered in coarse, woven fabric. An itchy blanket sits to the side, folded neatly and Lexa sits on the hay, legs crossed beneath her. She is bent over something on the floor, eyes creased with intensity and she looks up with a startled jump when Clarke's heavy footfalls betray her.

"Clarke," she stands, eyes wide with surprise and Clarke hesitates, lingering close to the ladder to smile uncertainly at her.

"Hi, I just... wanted to give you this." She reaches into her pocket, pulling the piece of parchment and holding it out between them like a peace offering.

"I see," Lexa remains where she is and Clarke takes it upon herself to cover the ground between them in a few hurried steps. Lexa's fingers curl over the folded parchment and she places it beside the candle on the crate. "Please," there's a wry smile dancing on her lips, "sit." She gestures redundantly to the pile of hay and Clarke sinks down, flinching at the prickly feel of the makeshift bed.

Lexa follows her, keeping a few inches between them and Clarke speaks without thinking. "This is where you sleep?" The disgust in her voice is blatant, but Lexa just laughs softly.

"Yes," she touches the blanket carefully, running her fingers over it. "But someone was kind enough to leave a few things up here for me."

Clarke turns, inspecting the loft a little more carefully now that her eyes have adjusted to the light. It's pretty bare, piles of hay filling most of the back wall, a few crates of coal, bags of flour and oats sitting in one corner. On the overturned crate sits a dented copper mug filled with water, and an old scroll, tied with ratted cord. She eyes it curiously, and finally asks, "You found all of this up here?"

"Like a welcome gift," The bitterness in her voice is hard to ignore. "The scroll is an old children's story, I think, though I am better versed in speaking your language than reading it."

Clarke hums softly and reaches out, pausing when her fingers touch the parchment and turning back, even though she has heard no protest from the girl. "May I?"

"Of course," Lexa gestures with an open swing of her hand and she pulls the scroll into her lap, unwrapping it carefully.

There are only two sheaths of parchment, but the print is small and dark and she smiles when she sees the title at the top. "The Adventures of Farlour, I remember this."

"It was yours?" Lexa is looking at her, face cast mostly in shadow thanks to the candle but there is curiosity in her light eyes, tentative and easy.

"Not exactly, we had a slave before you and Fern who often cared for me when I was young. I think she made the story up, but I remember her telling it to me over and over again. It was about a girl who tamed a dragon."

" _Tamed_ a dragon?" Lexa echoes, snorting softly, "Your people have such ridiculous notions."

"It was just a children's story," She defends it sharply, temper flaring. "What were your childhood stories like?"

Lexa arches an eyebrow in her direction and says, with little emotion, "I was an orphan, we are not often read stories."

"Oh," Clarke deflates abruptly, grief gripping her heart at the words, "I'm sorry that was... harsh of me. I didn't know."

"How could you?" Lexa seems wholly unaffected and she seems to sense Clarke's unease because she continues, "Don't concern yourself with it, I do not."

"But... it must have been hard." The words fall from her before she can think and Lexa's brows furrow.

"It was all I ever knew."

"What... happened to your parents?" She can't bear to look into Lexa's eyes anymore and averts her gaze down to the floorboards, where a fine layer of dust has settled from the drying hay and reaches out a finger to draw swirls and patterns.

"They died in battle, as many of my people do."

"You fight a lot?"

"We used to," there is a tinge of pride in her voice and Clarke's eyes flicker up, glancing from beneath her lashes to see the spark in her eyes, "our new Heda has put a stop to it."

"Who did you fight with?" She traces the arches of two wings in the dust, following the rise and fall of the dragon's back and tail.

"The other clans, mostly. Slavery was a point of contention between us, as well as boundaries and trade routes."

"But your Commander got rid of slavery in the eastern lands?"

A small smile tilts her lips upwards, oddly proud, and she places her hands in her lap, folding them together carefully. "Yes. She was set on it from the moment she was chosen to lead."

"Why?" Lexa casts her a strange look and she hurries to explain herself, "You knew her well, right? She was your mentor?"

"I know her very well," Her eyes are cast down to the floor but there's still a smile to her voice, "Some may say better than anyone."

"So why do you think she was so set on it?" Clarke's brows are furrowed with curiosity and Lexa considers for a moment, hesitating before she answers, slowly, as though weighing every word in her head before voicing it.

"She once told me that she saw a slave market when she was very young, and that the sight put her off forever. She vowed to end the practice and she did."

"That's impressive," Her murmur is soft, and thoughtful, "I think it would be difficult here, slavery is such a big part of our lives. No one ever really considers whether it's good or bad."

"Have you ever considered it?" Lexa is looking at her again, she can feel her gaze through the darkness and she forces herself to look up, eyes flickering down to the iron collar wrapped over sun kissed skin.

"I have been," The words feel stilted and awkward, and she's unsettled under Lexa's unerring stare, but pushes on because this feels important, "Especially recently."

"And what conclusion have you come to?" Lexa's voice is low and solemn, laced with severity like dew drops on the fragile lines of a silken cobweb.

"It's bad." It feels juvenile to voice the words, they seem obvious the second that she speaks them. Sat looking at the girl with wild hair and light eyes, the one who so clearly yearns for a freedom that she can no longer have. One that was stripped away by Clarke's people. She tears her eyes away, looking back to the lines she's drawn in the dust, shoulders curling inwards like the petals of a flower and she sees, from the corner of her eye, something dark marring the floorboards. "What is that?" She leans forward, careening her body into Lexa's to peer at the strange markings.

"I drew them." Lexa admits to it hesitantly, clearly uncertain of Clarke's reaction but the blonde is too busy following the black lines, creasing her eyes at the strange script.

"It's a map?"

"Of my lands, yes." Lexa places the charcoal down between them and places a hand against the drawing, splaying her fingers out as if drawing strength from it, seemingly uninterested in the way the lines smear beneath her hand. "I wanted to be sure I remembered."

"And the writing? It's your language?"

"Yes, the names of our villages and clans," she gestures to the easternmost part of the map, where Clarke can see the details of mountains and trees and taps the name written across it. "Here are my people. The _Trigedakru_."

"Trigeda-" She stumbles over the words, her brows twisting with confusion as she turns to look at the girl. "What does it mean? Dragons?"

"No," Lexa lets out a soft breath of laughter, "Though you call us dragon riders we see ourselves more as one with the forest. Few of our people actually ride dragons and though we have made our homes with them amongst the trees, it is there that we align ourselves." She purses her lips and taps the top of the word, "Trigeda, it means the forest, and kru means people. The Forest People."

"I see," Her eyes find Lexa's fingers, the dark smudges that fall like shadows on her skin and she blinks herself from her haze, rising smoothly. "Your fingers are dirty," Lexa's eyes follow her as she moves towards the crate, watching as she pulls a scrap of cloth from her belt and dips it into the water in the copper mug, returning to sit back beside Lexa and hesitantly draw the girl's hands into her lap. They're thin, but the pads are rough from years of labour and sword play and she can feel the thump of her heart, fluttering like a trapped bird as she traces her thumb across the delicate skin of her wrist, turning until her palm is facing the sky.

They are quiet as she runs the cloth along the smudges that sit like dark feathers against Lexa's skin, her touch gentle and shakily careful. It is peaceful, but it weighs down on her and the longer it settles the more she can feel it around her shoulders, muffling her ears as if she has stuck her head into the clouds.

"Charcoal tends to get everywhere," she informs her, softly and when Lexa only nods in acknowledgement, she continues. "What do you call us?"

"Your people?" Lexa enquires, but answers before Clarke can nod. " _Skaikru_ \- the Sky People - because your mountains were covered by the clouds."

"Oh," The words push a smile onto her face, "I like it. My father always used to say I was a dreamer, my head in the clouds," She lets out a quiet breath of laughter, "I suppose it's truer than ever now."

"Your new lands," Clarke's eyes are fixed on Lexa's fingers, but she thinks that if she dared to look up she would see Lexa's smile in the golden candlelight. "That is what you dream of."

"Yes." It seems to require no further explanation, but Lexa pushes anyway.

"Why? What is wrong with these lands?"

Clarke thinks for a moment, moving to her other hand and running a blunt nail gently down the tender flesh on the inside of her finger, feathering a touch over her knuckles. "We live in the shadow of the mountains here, the shadow of our old ways. We have to move forward to survive, and we can't do that here."

The quiet returns, lingering between them, weaving itself into the cracks in the floorboards and the strands of hay and the gap between their bodies that seems so very far to bridge. In the silence, Clarke realises that her cloth is now at her side, long abandoned and she is left holding Lexa's hand in her own , their fingers intertwined and pressed together.

"You are very wise for one so young, Clarke Griffin." Lexa observes, with a slight tilt of her head. Her eyes have softened just a little, watching her with a glimmer of something close to fondness, close to respect, balancing a fine line in their odd, newly blossoming friendship.

"So are you."

"I have much reason to be," Lexa points out, though not unkindly.

Clarke struggles for a moment, swallowing against her dry throat and when her eyes meet Lexa's again, her gaze is steady and unerring. "Maybe I do too."

\----

Lexa can smell the scent of the dragon clinging to her clothes. It is ash and cold and sulphur, and it is matted into her hair, hidden between the thick fibres of her tunic and pants. Her shoes are falling to pieces already, beaten up from the long treks backwards and forwards into the woods. Thanks to Clarke's gentle suggestions, Abby thinks that the year has been particularly bad for herbs,  and though she knows that sometimes Clarke accompanies her on her trips, she thinks it is merely as an aid to her collection. Their ruse is well constructed, the carefully placed building blocks of their lies falling into place to create an impassable wall, a protection.

In the forest, sheltered by the steep edges of the ravine and the thick cover of fur trees, Clarke interrogates her on everything she knows about dragons. She is refreshingly curious, thirsty for knowledge and Lexa is glad to impart it, eager to change the mind of this stubborn Sky girl.

Her bond with Hlin is already close and strong. The dragon is no longer grounded, but she returns to the clearing regularly, sometimes hauling the remains of a catch made from far away and Lexa smiles when she sees Clarke's eyes widen at the sight of the stag trapped between her jaws. They eat well and Clarke croons over her companion, sits close to her and warms herself against Hlin's skin.

The dragon is remarkably pliant, protective of Clarke. Lexa knows from experience that most dragons are far less friendly towards humans with whom they are not bonded, but even the tattoos the sprawl across her back, hidden by her tunic and single her out as different and special do not deter the creature who curls around Clarke and eyes Lexa with suspicion.

When Clarke comments on it, Lexa smiles wanly at her from across the fire, looking to where the blonde is leant back against Hlin's stomach.

"Most dragons don't take well to strangers, those they are not bonded with. The only exception is the Heda."

"Why?" Clarke bites into the apple that they had found on their journey, chewing through the juicy flesh.

"She is chosen by the mother, the rider of all. The faya kom keyron burns brightly inside of her. It is rumoured that should she choose, she can make any dragon do her bidding."

"You seem sceptical," Clarke quirks her brows at her and Lexa smiles again, bowing her head in acceptance.

"It has never been seen before. I do not know whether it is true or simply legend; to me it seems that the Heda is just a woman, like any other."

"Well," Clarke runs a hand up Hlin's stomach and the dragon rumbles in appreciation. "She isn't trying to eat you."

"Yes," Lexa rises her eyebrows, "She is very tolerant of my presence, especially for a young dragon."

"She knows you're important to me." Clarke informs her, softly and when her eyes dart to look at the girl she is focussed on scratching at a tender part of the dragon's belly. Lexa wonders if she is imagining the flush creeping up the other girl’s neck and onto her cheeks.

Clarke is eager to learn all she can about dragons and her enthusiasm ignites Lexa's own passion, lifting her spirits. They sit close to the river, one unusually hot day and dangle their bare feet in the water, cooling themselves in preparation for further sparring. Clarke has hidden the swords Bellamy gave her in Hlin's cave and they hold two wet stones in their hands, running them down the blades to sharpen them in the blistering sunlight.

"It isn't normally this hot," Clarke tells her, pausing to shrug off the long sleeved tunic she wears, leaving her in only a strappy vest and Lexa follows the trail of three freckles up over her collarbones towards her neck before she catches herself. "What is the weather like in the east?"

"Fair, warm." Lexa smiles at the thought of the sunlight filtering between the plush green tree canopy above her. "Our weather is good, it makes for fertile land. It is very green and there are flowers."

"That must be nice," Clarke sounds softly wistful, "No wonder the dragons nest there." Her eyes dart over to Lexa almost shyly and when she speaks she is tentative. "Tell me about them?"

"Of course," She can't help herself, Clarke's genuine interest urges her onwards and she looks to the water, where tiny fish flicker between her toes as she speaks. "Their nests are in our highest trees. They're made of branches and soft moss and they are well protected. There are no real predators for a dragon's eggs but another dragon. Sometimes you see them fighting," She laughs quietly, "They make quite a racket."

"And they stay there? To rear their young?"

"Yes," Lexa looks up and is surprised to meet wide, interested eyes, "You have been listening." Clarke blushes again, just slightly and looks back to the sword in her hands. "Very young dragons are mischievous creatures, well meaning but curious. They are often found burrowing holes in allotments or slipping beneath doors to curl up beside the fire or raid someone's larder."

"And they don't eat your animals?" Clarke is frowning, her wet stone slipping a little on the sword and she jolts forward, cursing when a small cut mars her skin.

"Careful," Lexa reaches out automatically, fingers tangling with Clarke's, and she tries to ignores the slight rush she feels as she pulls the girl towards her so that she can inspect the scratch. "Are you alright?"

"Of course," Clarke sounds just slightly breathless, and when she slowly unwinds her fingers Lexa lets her, busying herself with her own blade. "It's only little."

"I see," She clears her throat, suddenly self conscious, and hurries to continue. "They don't eat our animals, no. There is an understanding between us and the dragons."

"If only we could have that," Clarke sighs, her eyes wandering up to the skies in search of Hlin, though the blue shadow is nowhere to be seen.

"Maybe if you didn't capture those they have bonds with." Her voice is wry and she speaks without thinking, but Clarke only smiles a little sadly and nods her agreement. Eager to wash the melancholy expression from Clarke's eyes, she continues. "I think we're ready, shall we?"

They stand together, Lexa's feet slippery against the soft grass and she can't help her smile as Clarke slips automatically into a defensive position, bracing her legs and raising her sword in preparation, jaw set with concentration. They circle each other slowly for a moment and Lexa can't help swivelling her sword in her hand, loosening up her wrist in preparation. Clarke cracks first, lunging forward to swipe at Lexa's legs and she darts away, jumping away from the swinging blade and swinging around to meet the next strike with her blade, pushing away hard enough to send Clarke stumbling backwards. Twisting two steps to the side, she brings her weapon down against Clarke's hip but the girl darts out of harm's way and Lexa is left tripping forward a step before she can catch herself, propelled by her own momentum and she only just manages to pivot in time to avoid Clarke's blade. Her aim is good, her tactics strong but her blow is too heavy and she almost falls to the floor, turning just in time to roll out of Lexa's way, shuffling hurriedly backwards as Lexa raises her sword high, preparing to strike, before a snarling growl rips through the clearing and sudden pain rips through her shoulder as claws catch her and she is thrown to the side.

Lexa lands with a huff on her stomach, eyes bleary for a second as she turns and pushes herself around to see Hlin growling, sniffing over Clarke to ensure she isn't harmed before taking two long strides over to Lexa, hissing with fury. Smouldering eyes stare down at her and she can see the dragon's chest rumbling with anger, hot tendrils of air escaping her nose and scorching her cheeks hot and red.

"No, no Hlin!" She speaks in hurried trigedasleng. Her shoulder is thumping with pain and she can feel it bleeding sluggishly, matting the grass below her red. "Please, I would never harm her."

"Hlin!" Clarke shouts in English and Lexa sees her suddenly, spots her hands clawing at the dragon's shoulder and neck. While she may not listen to Lexa, the dragon at least feels Clarke's distress and she rolls her head around, sharp eyes inspecting Clarke. "No, she's a _friend_." Clarke's words are hurried, frantic and Hlin hisses once, rage still rippling through her. "Stop." Clarke is hard and firm and she glares at the dragon, feet planted stubbornly until Hlin lets out an infuriated huff of breath and lifts herself away from Lexa's body, lumbering away across the clearing to curl up, thoroughly frustrated.

"Lexa!" Clarke is at her side in moments, falling to her knees beside her and holding her down when she tries to stand. "No, stay where you are. Let me check your shoulder."

Lexa gladly falls back against the ground, her eyes clenching shut as the adrenaline fades away and she is left with the gashes in her shoulder, throbbing with each heartbeat. Tender fingers make her jump and her eyes snap open to find the sky staring down at her through soft, worried eyes, framed by a halo of golden air. Clarke probes gently at the cuts and slowly eases her up until she is sitting. Cool fingers edge the bottom of her shirt uncertainly and Clarke hesitates, glancing up at her warily.

"Can I?"

"Yes, yes whatever you need." The words are harsh and breathless and Clarke asks no further questions, easing her arm painfully upwards to pull her tunic from her body. Fingers feather a touch against her ribs and she shivers despite the sun blazing down from above them. Clarke hisses softly when she sees the slashed marks, sucking at her teeth thoughtfully for a moment before saying.

"I need these clean, do you think you can walk to the stream?"

Lexa clenches her jaw, nodding and standing on shaking legs. She collapses down against a rock, breathless and shaking and Clarke falls to her knees beside her, frowning with concentration as she reaches for her tunic and begins to tear strips away from it.

"You don't have to-"

"Of course I do," Clarke cuts her off, rushed and slightly too high, voice wobbling.

Lexa doesn't protest when she dips one of the strips in the water and begins to gently wash away the blood around the wound, though she can't help the hiss that escapes her clenched teeth and the way her back arches away. A firm hand comes to rest against her stomach and her eyes snap open, looking down to where Clarke holds her steady. She can feel the warm breath of the girl on her shoulder, coming evenly as she focuses. Pain rushes through her again at the next touch and Clarke can clearly feel the way she stiffens because she speaks soothingly.

"These tattoos on your back, what are they?"

Lexa knows this tactic, has seen it used many times on patients to distract them, but she complies regardless.

"They're just... traditional. For dragon riders... in my clan... it is-" She cuts herself off with a gasp, quivering away from Clarke touch, "It is an honour."

"It must have hurt," Clarke muses, reaching past her to dip the cloth in the water and Lexa wrinkles her nose when the sees the red that winds through it like coloured dye.

"Yes," The word is sharp and curt and Clarke is quiet for a moment, continuing her work.

"There, it's clean," She says at last, her voice tight with worry. "I don't think any of them need stitches, you're lucky."

"She only scratched me," Lexa smiles faintly, turning to look back to the dragon, eyeing them suspiciously, but Clarke pushes against her ribs impatiently.

"Stay still," she commands and Lexa obeys, looking away again. "Okay, I have to bandage them, just hold still."

"Of course," Lexa raises her hand, wiping at an irritation against her hairline and when she pulls her hand away it is stained red and she jolts with the realisation that there is a lump growing beneath the cut.

"That's not still," Clarke reprimands her gently, but when Lexa holds out her hand she hisses softly, "Shit, she really did a number on you. I'll get to it in a minute, hold on." Lexa just nods, waiting as she feels the first bandage begin to bind her shoulder, deft fingers wrapping the strips beneath her opposite arm, over the bindings that already cover her breasts. "So, Clarke speaks to fill the silence and Lexa watches a spot in the distance, where the river turns a corner and disappears from sight, "Is a dragon like a destiny?"

"I suppose, if you believe in such things." She purses her lips, turning the words over in her head for a moment. "They are certainly an indication of parts of us we may not otherwise know existed."

"So... I am a protector? A guardian?" Fingertips brush against her shoulder and she tries not to shiver.

"Yes, I suppose you are." The thought makes a smile flicker onto her face, "You want to protect your people don't you? Find a better life for them, away from danger?"

"I do," Clarke admits it readily, fingers grasping blindly in front of her body for the other side of the strip and Lexa raises her hand without thinking, guiding her fingers to the end of the bandage so that she can weave it back around. When Clarke speaks again, her voice is slightly breathy. "They're like my family."

"It is no crime to want to look after your people, Clarke," she reassures her gently, lifting her hand to wipe at the rivulet of blood that is trailing down her chin. "It is honourable."

"Even when they do such terrible things to your people?" Clarke is almost whispering and Lexa stills, fingers trailing through the grass in front of her for a second as she tries to find what to say.

"Good and bad are subjective Clarke. The world is not black and white. What seems white to some may be black for others."

Clarke is quiet for a moment, tying off the bandage before shuffling around to sit in front of her, taking the last of the shredded tunic and dipping it into the water before raising it to wipe tenderly up Lexa's cheek. They are so close that Lexa can smell Clarke's breath as it bats against her neck, the soft sweetness of the mint leaves she chewed on their walk.

"Do you ever worry that you are destined for war?" Clarke asks, at last and Lexa has to swallow for a moment, caught in crystal clear blue, like a dash of cobalt through her otherwise greying world.

When she speaks, there is sadness weaved into her voice. "All of my people are destined for war, Clarke."

\----

Her shoulder has dulled to a blunt throbbing several days later, as they wander through the market together. Lexa is searching out a particular root Abby has requested and Clarke accompanies her, lingering behind her and pointing her towards hopeful looking stalls. They are quiet, the risk of being revealed is too great in the marketplace, surrounded by people, but Lexa can feel Clarke's eyes burning into her neck, watching her carefully.

She tries to ignore the prickle of excitement that accompanies her gaze.

The market is bustling, it is early in the morning and most people have emerged from their homes to pick out the best of offerings laid out on rickety trestle tables. It is warm, though dark clouds hover close, threatening them with rain and Lexa hurries her pace, only to stumble backwards, rushing to get out of the way of the cart that barrels past them. Her hand shoots out to push Clarke aside, but the girl is already stepping away expertly. Blue eyes flicker down to where Lexa's hand is still outstretched, touching at her stomach and Lexa pulls away quickly, heat flushing at her cheeks.

"Are you okay?" Clarke enquires finally, concerned. "Your shoulder?"

"Fine," Lexa brushes aside her worry easily but she can't help the small smile she gives the girl, grateful for her concern.

A commotion with the cart driver draws her eyes to the left and they both turn to see a woman glowering up at the driver, before hunching her shoulders and stomping resentfully past him, closer towards them. Lexa feels a her heart constrict, her stomach somersaulting and she has stumbled forwards before she can think, eyes staring greedily at matted, braided hair, high bruised cheekbones and the ever familiar, thin frame of her mentor.

" _Anya_ ," She breathes the word, but the woman's head snaps upwards and she when their eyes meet Lexa feels as if she could almost be home again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure I'll ever be able to update with much speed, but my exams finish next week and this fic is actually completed, all 16 chapters are written but unedited, so I feel like that bodes well for us. I hope you'll be kind enough to leave me your thoughts and feelings below, or over on tumblr! (@onemilliongoldstars)  
> PS. I hope Lexa's explanation of the intricacies of the dragon rider connections were coherent for you and hopefully if you go and read it back some of the conversations Lexa has with Anya at the beginning of the fic will make more sense.


	8. confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for your patience and your lovely comments!

  1. _confessions_



"Lexa!"

Anya is slower, her limbs clearly groaning from lack of exercise and malnutrition, so she has barely moved by the time Lexa arrives at her side, throwing her arms around her friend and holding her as if she may never let go. Anya hesitates for only a moment before wrapping her arms around Lexa's waist, thin and bony but strong as she presses them together.

"Little bird," The childhood nickname trips off Anya's tongue in their native language with ease, and Lexa feels her throat close a little at the sound of it, clenching her fists into the heavy material of Anya's tunic. "I thought the worst."

"I thought you had died." Lexa confesses into the crook of her neck and Anya's hands tighten a little before she pulls back slightly to look at her with the ghost of her old, strange mixture of sombreness and mirth.

"Surely you can see that is not the case," She teases, lightly. "I am far too solid to be a spirit."

"You would not be a spirit," Lexa scoffs, reaching up to brush impatient knuckles against the wetness on her cheeks. "The Mother would make you one of her dragons, you know that as well as I."

"Indeed," Anya steps back, so they are fully untangled, but grasps Lexa's forearm. "And I would torture you mercilessly, you would never have a moment's peace."

“I suppose I deserve it after so many years of being such a troublesome student," The words coax breathy, rough laughter from Anya and she shakes her head, smiling grudgingly.

"You always manage to make me smile, little bird."

"I will always try to," Lexa promises, softly, her eyes hardening slightly as she looks over the woman. "How are you?"

"As well as can be expected," Anya grunts the words, "They were fair; as fair as we will be when our time comes to take this land. They allowed me to live when they realised I was not the Heda, they assume that she remains in our lands. They are scared."

"They should be." The words are uttered softly, a promise that paints her lips with blood and she raises her eyes, aware that they are speaking in their own language and scans the crowd for guards. Hooking her hand around Anya's arm, she tugs her away into a small alleyway, protected from the onslaught of impatient shoppers and the watchful eyes of the guards. "Have you spoken with Gustus?"

"Yes, he says that Indra and the rest of the 12 clans will be preparing for war now. The strategies in place for the capture of the commander will be followed, Indra will insist upon it. They will be searching Heda, you know that. It's only a matter of time before they find us."

"But how long?" She runs a hand through her hair, tugging on it anxiously, "We have been here three weeks already!"

"These lands are foreign to us," Anya shrugs, lips pressed into a tight, thin line. "If they are searching every farmstead and hamlet they come across it will take some time, but I have an idea." Lexa's eyes dart up, meeting hers and listening with interest. "We need a signal and what better than fire? Set the village alight, there are enough slaves that at your say so the whole place could go up in flames. From the sky the smoke will be easily visible and Indra will lead her armies to us."

"The whole village?" Lexa stumbles over the words, eyes widening in alarm. "We do not harm the innocent, Anya that has always been my way."

"With respect Heda, none of these people are innocent. They have all benefitted from this barbaric practice and none stand opposed."

"Not publically."

"It is only publically where such an opposition  _ matters _ !" Anya snaps, before gathering herself, "Apologies, that was disrespectful. But surely you see this is our only option?"

"You don't know that," She is stalling, chewing on her lip worriedly as she thinks. "There may be other ways, ways that don't hurt elders and children and those who may stand with us."

"You can't be serious Lexa?" Anya drops all sense of propriety, staring at her aghast. "There is no discussion to be had!"

"Well I say there is!" She shoots back, her words loud and angry, "I will not become the savages they think us to be, Anya!"

"You're acting foolishly! These people mean to  _ kill _ our dragons, slaughter blessed creatures and enslave our people-  _ your people- _ do you-"

"Lexa!" The shout is all too familiar and she feels her stomach drop, her eyes falling to her feet in despair before raising in time to see Abby striding forward, fingers biting into her arm and hauling her a step away from Anya. " _ How dare you _ ?" Abby is seething, shaking her violently and Lexa sees, over her shoulder that Chancellor Jaha and several other guards stand at the mouth to the alley, watching. "I told you that this would be your last chance," She warns and the tremble to her voice is slight, but there as she shoves Lexa towards the waiting guards.

"They must both be punished," Jaha is eyeing Anya with hotly burning hatred. Anya squares her shoulders and glowers back, but Lexa hurries to speak.

"No! Please," Her eyes flicker back to where Anya is standing, taking in the few visible scars that already litter her body and the woman's earlier words echo through her head.  _ They were as fair as we will be _ . "She is already weak."

"What's your point?" As Jaha speaks the guards hoist her up, holding her steadily between them so that Jaha's fingers can grab at her chin and tilt her head, forcing her to look at him.

With an angry jerk, she rips herself from his grasp. "If you mean to  _ kill her _ directly after you have spared her life then punish her."

"She is right," Abby admits reluctantly, eyes darting warily to Anya, "She may very well not survive such treatment."

"Fine," Jaha grinds out from between his teeth, hard gaze fixing back on Lexa and a terrible, slimy smile slips onto his face. "Then you shall take her punishment, after all you did lie and say that she was your Heda."

"I didn't-" She begins to argue but promptly snaps her mouth shut, glowering at him as Anya lunges towards them, only to be pulled to a halt by another set of guards.

"No! Lexa no, what are you doing?"

" _ Saving your life _ ," She hisses in fast trigedasleng. "Don't make me regret it!"

"Take her." Jaha commands in a tight clipped voice and Abby watches, lips pressed together as Lexa is hauled away from the alley, through the market.

They wrench her struggling body for what feels like miles, but is really only minutes before two high posts tower before her and she feels herself break out into a frightening, furious sweat at the sight. She has been trained in the art of combat, but as her arms are bound to the posts, quickly followed by rough rope wrapping around her legs and spreading them, she wonders what good that can do her against people who work so viciously. She is trembling but she growls and spits as the guards cut away the back of her tunic, revealing her ink stained back.

People are already gathering, forming curious crowds a few steps away from the whipping posts to watch her and as she looks she can see Gustus and Greta and a host of other familiar faces, her people staring up at her in anguish as she is humiliated. Her expression hardens and she meets every gaze that she can, eyes boring into them as if willing them to see her as their Heda, rather than a terrified little serving girl.

The first stroke comes without warning and she barely manages to suppress her shout, arching forwards away from the lash, hissing out a line of strangled curses.

"Thirty strokes," Jaha decrees loudly from close by and she opens her eyes to glare at him as the next impact flashes through her skin and she lets out a gasp, arms pulling mercilessly against her bounds.

She is suddenly glad that Clarke had made her timely exit earlier. The thought of the blonde seeing this makes her want to retch and when the third strike slices through her skin she is distracted enough to allow a grunt to escape her. Her back is painted red with a burn like dragon's fire, gasps and grunts pulled from her excruciatingly and even as her vision swims, she refuses to cry, fingers curling around the rope and clinging on with each new insult to her skin.

At the ninth strike she breaks and lets out a short, sharp scream. Everything burns, every second aches as if she is being peeled apart and she can feel the blood dripping down her legs and spotting at the grass below like some sort of plague.

The tenth comes, harder than ever and instead of screaming she roars, arching against her bounds again and forcing her eyes open to snarl the words furiously. " _ Jus drein, jus daun _ !"

A grumble of agreement comes as she slumps against the ropes and the first shout comes from somewhere within the crowd, an echo of her words that ripples and grows  even as the whip strikes her again and she lets out a choked sob, biting at her tongue so hard that the copper taste of blood fills her mouth. The words blossom, flowering out in front of her and the chant that runs through her people is enough to make her lift her lips into a red stained smile.

Jaha is agitated and he shouts out, furiously. "Stop! Silence!"

His words have no effect, but another strike comes, harder and the lash licks up against her hip and ribs beneath her tunic and she screams out so loudly in surprise that her people halt, staring at her as she slumps down against the binds, whimpering at the next two blows. Her mind drifts and she feels the echo of blessed, peaceful blackness stirring at the edge of her vision, body slumping in defeat when she is startled into consciousness.

"Stop! For fuck's sake, what are you  _ doing _ !?"

Raven Reyes. Lexa manages a smile as she feels hands at hers, pulling at her ropes and a shoulder supporting her under her arm, holding her up as another pair of hands appears, soft and gentle and ever so familiar, fingers pressing tenderly to her cheeks and when her eyes flicker open she sees fiery blue eyes staring down at her, flashing with rage. They soften the moment they see her and Clarke's voice is sweet, soothing.

"Hey, Lexa can you hear me? You're okay, we're going to make sure you're okay."

Her ankles are freed and she sees, in the corner of her hazy eyes, Octavia Blake slipping behind Clarke and eyeing her nervously.

"Is she alright?"

"She will be," Clarke responds and over them Lexa hears the shout of an angry voice.

"What the hell were you trying to do,  _ kill her _ ?" Raven is stood before Jaha, raging with fury as hot as fire and Lexa almost smiles when she sees the collar that binds her neck, glinting in the sunlight for all to see.

"This is  _ barbaric _ !" Octavia puts in and Lexa doesn't see Jaha's response, is more focussed on the careful, large hands that swings her gently up into Bellamy's arms, where he holds her steady and secure and mutters.

"Don't worry, I've got you. Nothing bad is going to happen now."

She almost laughs at the promise, wants to refute him, but he is well meaning and she can feel the weariness pressing down on her bones as he begins to walk. Darkness is slipping up on her now, almost like a blanket being pulled over a sleeping child and her eyes flicker shut, but a vehement utterance slides into her dreams as she loses consciousness.

"I am  _ ashamed _ of both of you."

Clarke Griffin. Fierce, brave, angry Clarke Griffin, forged from fire.

If Lexa had the energy, she would smile.

Clarke is every bit a dragon rider.

\----

The room is dim, lit only by a few candles and it smells softly of the lavender incense that Clarke keeps atop the table pressed against the far wall. She used it years ago, when she struggled to sleep because her dreams were haunted by shadowy figures over heard, the smell of burning flesh and the sharp snap of jaws around her neck that jolted her out of sleep screaming. Now it does little to calm her, leaving her pacing back and forth across the room, hands behind her back and brows creased as she circles back to Lexa once every few minutes, worried eyes checking over the pale features of the girl lying on her furs. Soft tendrils of hair fall over her cheeks, striking against her ashen skin and she pauses close by to push a strand of hair back behind her ear, running her thumb across her cheek.

The others in the room do her the courtesy of ignoring the action and Raven shifts in her chair at the end of the bed, still fuming.

"I can't believe your mother," Octavia puts in from where she leans against the doorframe, arms crossed and shoulder stiff. "She just stood and watched. I thought she was meant to heal people not hurt them."

"She changed after my father died," Clarke's words are stilted and harsh, but there is no animosity there, just a helpless acceptance. "She hardened against slaves."

"I've never seen them go after someone like that before," Raven runs a hand over the top of her brace, refusing to meet their eyes as she speaks. "I remember, when I was growing up the older slaves used to tell me of a time when those sorts of beatings were normal. I suppose they became more lenient under Jaha, but it explains why there were so many people watching today."

"Entertainment," Bellamy puts in, disgusted and Clarke turns to look at him, leant back against the wall and shifting a dagger anxiously between his hands. "That's what they think it is." His eyes move to Raven and crease with concern. "You should be careful, Jaha's obviously dangerous. I know you have Finn to protect you-"

"I don't  _ need _ Finn to protect me." Raven snaps, looking up to glower at him. "I protect myself, I'm too valuable for Jaha to fuck with me."

"What was she doing?" Their eyes turn back to Lexa and Clarke lingers, watching her steady breathing and her peaceful face.

"I don't know," she answers Octavia at last, shaking her head, "She was talking to the leader. They're... close I think and she's just been released. They were speaking some language I couldn't understand." Her features tighten a little, "It was obviously a private moment so I came back up here, gave her some space. I didn't realise anything was wrong until Raven came for me."

"I could hear her screams," Raven's voice is shaking, just slightly and Clarke quivers when she remembers the high, piercing sounds, as if they had been torn from Lexa. "I knew something was wrong."

"He's making an example of her," she mutters, quietly. "They mustn't have gotten anything from the woman, not if they've let her go and she was probably too injured to punish. The new slaves are restless and unruly, especially now with their leader back with them. He was showing what he would do."

From the longhouse there is a sudden commotion, raised voices in harsh, clipped English and they all turn, startling around to look at the door as it slams open and suddenly stood in the doorway is the woman, Anya, tall and shadowy. Fern emerges quickly behind her, tugging at her arm and she sends a pleading look towards Clarke.

"I'm sorry mistress, I tried to stop her," Anya pulls herself irritably out of Fern's grip, striding across the room towards Lexa and Fern lingers in the doorway.

"It's fine, Fern." Clarke feels abruptly tired, but straightens herself, preparing for yet further conflict. She is abruptly glad of the presence of her friends, standing strong and tall around her, hands placed on the hilts of daggers and swords.

Fern hovers in the doorway, eyes creased and she looks to Lexa, "Is she okay? Does she need anything?"

Clarke's eyes soften and she recalls the closeness between the two, Lexa's protection and concern for a the girl that is so clearly reciprocated here, in this moment. Camaraderie, she thinks, is automatic and natural between the Tree People, extraordinary when compared to the fractured, suspicious nature of her own village.

"She'll be alright, she just needs rest." Clarke reassures her, but while Fern nods and slips diligently away, shutting the door behind her, Anya whirls around to glare at her.

"How can you say this? Are you a healer?" She is clearly tense here, surrounded by enemies and trapped in the small room, unarmed and vulnerable, and she bristles like a cornered cat, placing herself between Lexa's sleeping body and them.

"Yes," Clarke tries to keep her composure but she can feel the stress bearing down on her and she runs a hand over her eyes, sighing softly when Anya grunts. "What are you doing here?"

"She was my second," Anya retorts, a hand reaching out as if to touch Lexa, reassure herself that she is still there. "I care about her safety."

"Do you know what happened?" Raven asks from behind her and Anya turns quickly, eyes narrowing before she spots the familiar collar encircling Raven's neck.

"You are enslaved also." She observes, with interest, gaze flickering back to the rest of them before landing back on Raven. "And yet you sit among them like equals."

"All are equal here," Octavia tells her, lowly and Anya quirks an eyebrow at them, smirking.

"Really? It doesn’t seem that way to me."

It's almost funny how much of Lexa she can see in the woman. She wonders whether they are related by blood or whether Lexa, with no family, attached herself to Anya, sought her out as a protector and a role model while growing up.

"Can you tell us what happened?" Bellamy asks it again, fingers rippling over the sword at his hip.

"She is foolishly protective," Anya tells them, with a slight smile. "When Jaha threatened me she convinced him not to commit such atrocities on me, instead she took my punishment for herself."

"Why would she do that?" Clarke can feel her expression crumpling, even while her heart swells at the show of selflessness.

"She has lost many people," Anya tells her simply, "And though she is wise and rational, she can become slightly blinkered when it comes to protecting those she has left." She brushes a hand across Lexa's hair. "It is both a gift and a curse."

"I see," Clarke presses her hand against her forehead, sighing softly.

"Why did you come for her?" Anya is eyeing them suspiciously, frowning slightly. "What do you want from her?"

" _ Nothing _ ! She's my friend-" Clarke cuts herself off, stumbling over her words as she sees the surprise pass over the faces that surround her. "She's... important to us." She admits lamely, trailing off into helplessness.

"We couldn't let her suffer through that." Octavia clarifies at last, when the silence seems like it will swallow the room.

Anya's gaze rests on Clarke, thoughtful and intrigued but before she can enquire further there is a hesitant knock on the door and Fern appears again, looking between them.

"There are guards on their way," she tells them anxiously, eyes darting to Anya. "They're searching for you."

"Go," Clarke encourages and when Anya lingers beside Lexa, torn between her escape and her loyalty, she steps forward and places a gentle hand on Anya's arm, drawing her eyes up. "We will look after her, I promise you."

Anya nods, once and takes one last look at the girl sleeping in the furs before hurrying out after Fern, disappearing. The slamming of the door moments later and the shouts of guards stirs Lexa and Clarke's eyes widen as they flicker back towards the door. "They can't find her," she isn't sure if she's talking about Lexa or Anya, but Bellamy steps into action regardless.

"We'll stall them, distract them." He gestures to the others and they nod, Raven rising from her seat to clasp Clarke's arm.

"Look after her." She tells her, solemnly and Clarke wonders for a moment at Lexa's uncanny ability to inspire such loyalty in everyone she meets, before nodding quickly.

They filter from the room and for a moment it is quiet, before the door crashes open again and she hurriedly steps out of her bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her and glaring across the longhouse at them.

"Clarke Griffin," The front guard addresses her gruffly, "Where is your slave?"

"Resting," Clarke spits at them but the man makes no move to leave. "You can't have her," She adds, hurriedly, "She's mine and I say she stays here."

"Jaha's orders," The man snaps in response, moving closer. "We're to locate the girl and her accomplice, have you seen any other slaves?"

"None," She lies easily, still glowering. "And you've located her, so fuck off."

"We're under orders to take her to Jaha."

"She can't be moved, take this up with my mother if you want but Lexa  _ isn't moving _ ."

They struggle for a moment, looking between each other before the first guard finally takes a halting step backwards, glaring at her irritably. "Fine. But we'll be back."

"Looking forward to it," She replies with a cock of her eyebrow, and turns to slip back into her bedroom.

To her surprise she finds her furs empty and it takes a moment to spin, peering through the dark room to find Lexa stood in the corner, trembling from exertion but holding a jewelled pin from one of the woven baskets on her table in her hands. She is bristling with anger and fear, but the moment she sees Clarke is alone she slumps, shoulders slipping forwards and takes a stumbling step away from the wall to sit on the furs again.

"Lexa," Clarke moves, hovering close to her, hands outstretched but not daring to touch her. "You shouldn't be up, come on."

At her insistence Lexa shifts, turning to lie on her side and tired eyes gaze up at Clarke, heavy with the weight of exhaustion. "What happened?"

"Guards were looking for you and Anya," She explains, gently, bringing a goblet of cold water closer and holding it against Lexa's lips, tipping slowly so that she can drink. Warm fingers touch hers, winding over them around the cup, but Lexa doesn't try to take it, just rests her hand there until she pushes at the goblet, lying back on the furs with a soft sigh.

"What did you tell them?"

"I said that Anya wasn't here and that you weren't going anywhere."

"Thank you," Her smile is faint. "Was Anya here?" Her face is tight with pain, pinched in an effort not to cry out and Clarke hovers close by, eventually moving to kneel beside the bed. "I thought... I heard her voice? Or was I dreaming?"

"It was real," She watches, eyes soft with worry as Lexa blinks awake at her words, and then reaches out when the girl tries to push herself up in the furs. "Whoa, stay lying down Lexa. You're hurt."

"It's... not safe for her." Her words are broken by a sharp gasp, eyes squeezing shut for a second before she falls back to the furs again. "Jaha will be furious."

"Let me worry about Jaha," Clarke tells her firmly, moving the woollen blanket up so that it covers her shoulders. "You need to stay still, you'll risk opening the wounds again."

"I can't stay here," Lexa argues, though her voice is clearly laden with fatigue. "Your mother will-"

"My mother will learn to deal with the consequences of her actions." Clarke snaps, standing quickly to walk towards the table, where a clay jug of warm liquid sits. "If she chooses to act like a beast then she'll have to deal with you being out of commission for a while."

When she turns again Lexa is watching her, her slight smile twitching her lips upwards again. "I can't see that pleasing her much."

"Nothing pleases her much," She counters, dryly and Lexa laughs once, cutting herself off to cringe, her features twisting with pain and Clarke hurries to her bedside, pouring some of the liquid into the now empty goblet and lifting it once again to Lexa's lips. "Here, this will help with the pain."

Lexa hesitates for a moment, but accepts at last and after a few mouthfuls she pulls away, wrinkling her nose at the heavy, earthy taste. "That is disgusting."

"It isn't meant to taste nice," Clarke reminds her and the smile on her face falls when she places aside the goblet and sighs, softly. "I'm really sorry, but I have to check the lashes."

"What for?" Lexa enquires, but turns onto her stomach regardless, pressing her cheek against the soft fur beneath her head, eyes fixed on a spot across the room as Clarke moves to sit tentatively on the side of the bed.

"I sewed up one or two, I want to check that the stitches held when you moved. The sun has set while you've been sleeping, it's been a while." She explains as she gently pulls away the material covering her back. She'd changed the girl when they first arrived, Bellamy holding her unconscious body gingerly in his arms. He'd been blood splattered and Lexa seemed as if she was coated in dark liquid, the sharp smell of copper turning Clarke stomach, so she'd washed her briefly and changed her into a soft cotton shift, loose and gentle against her skin. She lifts it now, pushing it up to around her shoulders to eye the white bandages coating the girl's back.

Lexa hisses quietly as she pulls them away, but stays completely still. She's trembling just slightly by the time that Clarke peels away the final layer of cloth, but she hasn't made a noise and Clarke lets out a sigh of relief when she sees that the stitches have stayed together. The bandages need changing though and she stands carefully to collect the box of medical supplies she keeps in her room.

"The stitches?" Lexa's voice is slightly strangled when she speaks.

"All fine," Clarke tosses a reassuring smile over her shoulder. "And they're clotting nicely. I just have to clean and change them. You can sleep if you want to."

"I feel odd," Lexa admits, when Clarke turns back to her. Her eyes are heavy, drooping and she sounds far away.

"It's the drink," Clarke tells her, sitting back on the bed and beginning to clean at the wounds with a damp cloth, "It soothes the pain, but it makes you feel strange, especially if you've never had it before."

"Will you-" Lexa cuts herself off, grunting when Clarke brushes a little too closely to a wound and she freezes, waiting until Lexa slowly relaxes back into the bed to continue her work, carefully. "Will you talk to me?" She sounds a little panicked and harried. "To keep me... grounded? I feel as if I could float away."

"You won't," Clarke assures her, touching at her arm ever so gently, "I've got you."

Lexa nods into the furs, her muscles tense as Clarke continues and she considers her words for a moment, rolling them around her mouth before she finally speaks.

"Did you ever know your parents? Before you were an orphan?"

"No," There's no grief to her voice.

"Well, I lost a parent too." Her hands shakes, just slightly, as she speaks but she lets out a steady breath, glad of Lexa's silence as she waits. "My father died a few years ago."

"I see," Lexa sounds tentative, uncertain.

"He was a great man," she keeps her eyes focussed on Lexa's skin, carefully cleaning away the red that mars it. It's a fascinating array of darkly inked words and symbols and she feels a jolt of anguish that it has been torn apart by such brutality. "He would have been appalled by this."

"I'm sure he would have, Clarke." There's a wary neutrality to the way that Lexa speaks, as if she is treading a careful line and it makes Clarke flush a little.

"Really," She insists, folding the cloth over to work with cleaner material. "He was fascinated by your people, by dragons. He wanted to learn about them." A small smile flickers onto her face as she speaks. "He used to sit me in his lap when Marla, our last slave, told me stories about dragons. It was always late and he would always promise her and mother that he was putting me to bed but then he would wrap his arms around me and, uh," Her voice breaks and she is suddenly glad that Lexa's face is pressed into the furs, away from her, "He would whisper all of these stories to me, of things we would do when I was older, places we would go."

"I'm sorry, Clarke," Lexa voice is soft, barely a murmur and she nods even though she knows that Lexa can't see her. "What happened to him?"

"He was attacked," She lets out a dry burst of laughter, "By a dragon." Lexa sucks in a sharp breath at her words, but Clarke ploughs on without stopping. "One was cornered, just a little one, a baby. It was injured and he was trying to stop them from killing it. The dragon just... leapt at him, burnt him to a crisp."

"That's... terrible." Lexa seems stunned, lost for words, "I've never heard of a dragon doing such a thing in my lands."

"It's different here," She shrugs, wiping away the final remnants of blood and bending to collect the fresh bandages. "The dragon was being provoked. It makes sense now but... at the time." She swallows against her dry throat. "It felt like  _ I  _ was dying. And my mom..." She lets out a strangled sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. "She was never the same. A few days later I came home and... Marla was gone."

"Gone?" Lexa echoes the word quietly, fear lacing her voice. "Gone where?"

"Just gone." The words fall like hammers, leaving the room silent and still in their wake and she pauses, hands trembling as she steadies herself for a moment. "Marla was more of a mother to me than my own, sometimes. I learnt that... my mother blamed her for my father's fondness for dragons. She said it was her fault that he approached it like that." She shakes her head, sighing quietly, "Sometimes I think she just wanted any reminder of him out of the house. Sometimes I think she wanted  _ me _ out of the house."

"No Clarke," Lexa turns just a little and the hand that Clarke holds out to try to still her is instead caught and laced between thin fingers. Her eyes are drawn down to the green of the forest in the midday sun. "You're her daughter, she'd want you near."

"Whatever she used to want, she changed," Her words are bitter but her smile is soft and she squeezes at Lexa's fingers slightly before pulling away to continue with her work. "It's why... It’s why she let this happen today. If my father were alive he would never have allowed it."

"I think your father would have been very proud of you." Lexa tells her, solemnly and she presses her eyes shut for a moment as she feels tears trail down her cheeks. "For what you did today and for the brave person you've become."

"Thank you," Her voice shakes and she ties off the final bandage, wiping hastily at her eyes. "I'm... so sorry, Lexa. This isn't right, none of this is. You shouldn't be here, not like this. God, you must hate me for talking about my life like it's something so awful when you're not even  _ your own person _ any more-"

"Clarke," Lexa pushes herself up again, turning so that she can look at the blonde, and Clarke doesn't even try to move away as hands cup her cheeks and draw her eyes up. Careful fingers wipe away her tears and Lexa is grave and sure when she speaks. "One person's troubles cannot be measured against another's. We all suffer, it's the way in which we handle our suffering that counts and  _ you _ ," She urges her eyes upwards again when Clarke tries to glance away, a flush creeping its way onto her cheeks, heating them beneath Lexa's fingers. "You have faced the world with bravery and beauty and kindness and your father  _ would _ be proud of you, I'm certain of it."

"Thank you," Her hands rise before she can stop herself, covering Lexa's hesitantly. "I see the way that they treat you and I... I wish I could do something. I wish I could help you Lexa, you're- you're extraordinary."

"Build your new world," Lexa tells her, "Create a life for your people that will not rely on the suffering of others."

"I'll try."

"No, you  _ will _ ." Lexa's eyes are light, soft. "Dragons don't bond with just anyone, you are meant for greatness Clarke Griffin. I hope I am able to see you achieve it."

"I hope so too." They are close, impossibly so it seems. She can feel the warmth of Lexa's body next to hers, the softness of her slight smile and the flutter of her breath against her cheek and suddenly she is careening forwards. The press of their lips together is messy and uncertain for a few seconds, before Lexa's hands steady her, one slipping down to cup her neck and guide her. They part for a moment, eyes still shut and Clarke can feel her lips brushing Lexa's as she pulls in a breath, before the girl is close to her again, kissing her tentatively, her nose brushing against Clarke's cheeks and Lexa is everywhere, soft and warm, smelling of lavender and pinewood and longing. Clarke finally moves her hands, one sliding up to tease through the back of Lexa's hair and twist tight curls around her fingers, the other resting very tentatively at the curve of her narrow hips, fingers brushing against bare skin.

The hand in Lexa's hair tightens when she is pulled in further, shifting until their thighs press close, and she slides it down just slightly until suddenly the warm skin is broken by the cold, harsh feeling of metal. She jolts, surprised and Lexa stiffens, dragging herself away abruptly to blink at her through slightly hazy eyes that widen with clarity.

She looks away. "I should sleep."

"Lexa," She reaches out, pulling as gently as she can at her arm when the girl tries to lie back and when Lexa turns to look at her reluctantly, she is hardened as if to stone, mouth set in a thin line.

"I understand, Clarke. I don't think you need to explain yourself."

"Don't be ridiculous," she is almost angry that Lexa thinks such a thing of her, tightening her grip on the girl's arm. "You know the only thing I think about that collar is that I'd like to rip it off."

Lexa's jaw tightens at the word and her fingers go up to press against the metal, tracing the edge carefully.

"You are so much more than that collar, Lexa. You  _ know  _ that." Her voice brooks no argument and her eyes stay fixed to Lexa's until final her shoulder relax slightly and her hands fall away to tangle around Clarke's fingers.

"Thank you," She speaks suddenly, "For seeing me as more than most others do. Thank you for seeing me as  _ Lexa." _

"There's nothing I'd rather see you as," She promises, quietly and leans forward to steal another kiss from her, pulling away to smile at her tenderly before nodding to the bed. "Now, you should rest."

"I'm rather enjoying  _ this _ rest," Lexa's eyes twinkle, but she slides obediently downwards, slipping beneath the covers. When she speaks again she sounds strangely small. "Will you... stay? I find your presence comforting."

"Of course," She smiles when Lexa' hand reaches up to tug at her arm, pulling her down until she lies beside the girl. "Rest," She twists and blows out the candle flickering on the small bedside table. "You're safe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How amazing is the new series? I'm losing my mind guys, losing my MIND. The new episodes remind me so much of this fic, though I can't spoil why. Hoping for more regular updates on this fic now; please comment and let me know what you think of this AND the new episodes, or shout at me on my tumblr (@onemilliongoldstars).


	9. make the sky yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is unbeta'ed because I stole my beta away for the weekend. It was worth it guys, very worth it, but regardless I'm sorry for any errors, they are entirely my own.

  1. _make the sky yours  
_



She shifts anxiously from foot to foot, chewing at her bottom lip as she slips through the darkened alleyways, trailing Clarke. The rough woollen texture of the hood pulled up to cover her face scratches against her cheek and she flinches away from it, ducking her head as they pass by a bright torch burning outside a hut.

It took two days for her to heal enough to work again. Two days of Abby's irritable muttering and lying uncomfortably on the lumpy hay in the loft, wishing for daylight. The only bright moments coming when Clarke's face appeared at the ladder, clambering up with a tray of food and a smile, settling herself beside Lexa in the hay and letting the girl shift until her head was resting in Clarke's lap and soft, tender hands ran through her hair, gently untangling the knots as they talked.

On the first night Lexa had tugged on her sleeve, drawing her hands away from their complicated task and reached out to grab the folded piece of parchment from the upturned crate. Carefully, feeling Clarke's calm breaths behind her, she had opened it up, revealing the lines and words written across the page.

"What is that?" Clarke had breathed, stilling unnaturally behind her.

"You gave it to me, by mistake I think. You meant to give me the drawing of the dragon I made for you." Lexa turned, shifting painfully to look at her and Clarke had had the sense not to deny her this moment of distance. "Why do you have a map of my lands?"

"It's my mother's," she confessed easily, swallowing before continuing. "I stole it from her jacket a few nights ago, when I took it for her. I didn't realise I'd given it to you."

"To what aim?" She fingers the curling corners that betray the map's age, frowning.

"I... was going to show it to my friends. I thought it could be helpful."

"Helpful for _what_ , Clarke?"

"Our rebellion." She muttered the words, almost embarrassed and Lexa had felt her jaw drop to the floor.

"Rebellion?" Lexa echoed, blinking, "what on earth does that mean?"

"We aren't... rebelling. But they're trying to help me figure out a way to get away and find new lands. It doesn't seem like Jaha will let me go alone so... we're going to steal a ship. Find more prosperous lands and return with the promise to take anyone who gives up on slavery."

There is silence for a moment, long and quiet and Lexa stares down at the paper in her hands, "that is ambitious." She acknowledged at last. Her throat felt dry, as if it was closing up and her voice was thick when she spoke again. "When do you intend on leaving?"

"Soon," Clarke informed her, softly and a hand appeared tentatively resting over hers, "I'll take you with me, Lexa. I promise."

Her smile was thin and strained. "We shall see."

When she was finally able to clamber down the ladder again, Abby cast her an annoyed glance but said nothing more than barking instructions at her and she felt herself start to smile a little.

Now, however, she is far from smiling. Clarke turns, the fingers tangled around hers squeezing softly and her brows furrow when she sees Lexa's frown.

"Hey," she speaks softly, pausing in the shadow of a rundown hut to pull her close. "What's wrong?" At her hesitation, Clarke's fingers tighten again just slightly. "Talk to me Lexa, come on."

"I've already said all that I can," she sighs quietly, pressing her lips together in exasperation. "I don't think this is wise."

"What's worrying you?" Clarke is anxious, clearly eager to move on and for a moment she thinks about abandoning the issue entirely.

"Your friends may not appreciate my presence."

"Of course they will!" Clarke shakes her head, rolling her eyes slightly. "Especially when they hear what you have to say. Please," she entreats, tugging Lexa close enough that her hip presses against Lexa's thigh and blue eyes glint up at her excitedly, lips like a spring blossom reaching up to press a gentle kiss to the underside of her jaw.

"Fine," she relents, shoulders slumping when Clarke turns away and tugs at her, leading her towards the small row of structures that run to the south. Never before has she been so easily defeated. She remembers Anya likening her to a ram when they first met, when she but a small spit fire, not older than eight summers and Anya a lanky teenager, eager to prove her worth by training up the youngest of the new warriors. They had come into conflict many times, but she looks back on the memories fondly now, as she knows Anya does.

Under Clarke Griffin's ocean blue gaze, however, she turns from a stubborn ram into a moon eyed pup.

It's frustrating, to say the least.

Clarke pauses outside a small, worn hut and looks back at her, offering a comforting smile before reaching out to knock three times, each sharper than the last. There's a buzz of low conversation that's coming from inside the house, the thin curtains doing nothing to disguise the light from inside and the door swings open quickly. Bellamy ushers them in, barely hesitating when he sees her and as she steps inside, Clarke releases her hand for a moment to shrug off her coat and the shawl tied over her blonde locks. She is stranded, hesitating near the door for a second. Cornered like a wild animal, her eyes scan around the room, taking in the numerous faces. She only recognises a few, Octavia stands beside a round table, talking intently to a boy with shaggy brown hair, who she recognises after a moment as Finn, and by the fire sits Raven, leaning over some sort of strange mechanical device with a boy with jet black hair and another, kneeling close to him. There are a few people she doesn't recognise gathered around the fire, talking and she steps back, reaching for the door before Clarke's hand stretches out and touches hers.

"It's alright," her voice is as calming as ever and Lexa unwillingly feels the tension slide out of her as Clarke helps her out of her cloak, hanging it on a rusty nail hammered into the wall, above her own belongings, before turning back to her and holding out a hand invitingly. Lexa hesitates, eyes darting up to the strangers who have noticed the new arrival and are slowly quietening, looking over at her curiously. "Hey," her eyes are drawn back to Clarke and the girl offers a hopeful, reassuring smile. "It'll be fine."

So she slips her hand into Clarke's, allowing herself to led forward one, then two steps, until everyone has torn themselves from their conversations to turn and eye her uncertainly.

"Everyone," Clarke's voice is loud, demanding, "This is Lexa." Her gaze wanders back to Lexa, a quiet, confident smile snaking its way onto her face. "She's going to help us."

\----

"We can't leave now."

Lexa watches, surprised, as Clarke's head snaps up, glaring at the boy across the small, oddly shaped circle they have formed. The table has been dragged from its place beside the wall towards the centre of the room and they are gathered around it. The surface has been cleared of mostly empty platters and goblets and instead it is spread with maps and charts, letters stolen from pockets and desks and tables detailing the movement of guards and ships. The mere amount of stolen information is staggering and she can't help but admire them for their cunning and skill.

Clarke had explained their situation, the information had something seemed redundant which makes Lexa guess that much of it had been for her own benefit. Their plan is to steal a slavers ship and sail it westwards and south in an attempt to find new, more fertile land in which their people can plant new roots. But the ships are closely guarded and though the Sky People have a remarkable knowledge of the surrounding lands- mostly from passing traders and their fruitful slaving industry- Clarke is determined that they will be safe, which requires planning a path before they set out.

"What exactly is the problem, Murphy?"

The boy glares at her, but shifts uncertainly and looks over towards Bellamy, searching for support. Bellamy sighs heavily and steps forward, clearly reluctant.

"There's a war coming Clarke."

"You don't know that." Clarke retorts, but Lexa can see the way that her hands clench into fists at her sides and she wonders whether the girl is trying to convince Bellamy or herself.

"I do," he stabs a finger at the most recent addition to the table, the map Clarke had stolen from her mother. " _This_ proves as much, along with the weapons Raven was building _and_ what I learnt on the guard. They're planning a war, Clarke, against the dragons." His eyes flicker to look at Lexa, uncertain for a moment, "if they don't bring it to us, we'll take it to them."

"We?" Octavia echoes, outraged. "What is that supposed to mean, Bell?"

"It means that some of us want to protect our people, we have homes and families and we can't abandon them to dragon fire."

"I'm not leaving my family here to die while I'm on some godforsaken quest." Murphy puts in, teeth grinding unhappily.

" _You_ signed up for this quest on your own," Clarke snaps and Murphy retorts.

"Only because _Bellamy_ told me I could make a name for myself. I'm not a _traitor_ , Clarke."

"So what? You're pulling out? After all this time?" Clarke is fuming, glowering at the people who fidget and avoid her eyes.

"What about the slaves?" Raven is leaning heavily on the table beside Lexa, but she is still towering, glaring down at the defectors, burning with hot, white indignation. "Do they get protected too? Or did you decide it was too _convenient_ having people you can push around?"

"That's _not_ what we said-" Bellamy begins, insistently, but Murphy cuts through him.

"It's not good okay but," Murphy waves a hand in Lexa's direction and she arches an eyebrow in surprise, "these ones are going to come after us if we let them go and they'll bring their dragons! The only reason we haven’t already been attacked is because they don’t know where we are."

"Do you have no sense of loyalty?" Lexa is steel and iron, gazing down at him with eyes as hard as stone and he flushes under her accusation, bristling angrily.

"Screw you, dragon fucker, you can't judge me."

" _What_ did you just call her?" Clarke steps forward until she is pressed up against the edge of the table and Lexa sees Octavia's fingers settle on the handle of her dagger as she edges forward.

"You will never defeat the dragons," she can feel her fury shivering through her, running like hot blood beneath her veins.

"Yeah, you would say that." Murphy's voice is low, dangerous, "you couldn't stand to see them pinned to the ground, my sword slicing through their necks-"

Lexa jolts forward and it is only Clarke's hand on her shoulder that calms her, draws her backwards. She is tingling all over, the tattoos on her back hot with her rage and when she hisses out her words, she feels momentarily more dragon than human. "You challenge the gods, boy."

"Okay," Bellamy steps in before any more words can be exchanged, holding up his hands for quiet, "we need to calm down, everyone out. We'll meet again later in the week."

"Not with that one around," Murphy glowers at her, "she's the enemy, not to be trusted."

Raven lets out a muttered curse and Lexa spits out " _branwada_ ," as he shoulders his way past Bellamy and out of the door, people streaming out behind him as Raven takes hold of her arm and pulls her away, sequestering them in a corner near the fire.

"You need to tell them." She implores, quietly, eyes darting to where Clarke and Bellamy are talking, "it'll help."

"It won't," she feels the hairs on the back of her neck rise, swallowing nervously. "They don't trust me already, Raven. It's too dangerous and if Jaha finds out..."

"He won't," Raven insists, exasperated, but she falls into sudden silence when a hand touches Lexa's shoulder, drawing her around to look into the soft blue eyes she's come to know so well.

"I'm sorry about that," Clarke is anxious and clearly upset and she doesn't even think when she raises her hand to rest over the girl's on her shoulder, thumb running in a gentle circle. "That wasn't supposed to happen."

"It wasn't your fault." Clarke's hand falls from her shoulder, fingers tangling with Lexa's until their hands are intertwined, swinging between them like a pendulum. "But you know that you cannot hope to defeat the dragons."

"It's difficult," Octavia presses the door shut behind the final person, leaving only her brother and the three other girls in the house and Raven paces past them to sit in the chair closest to the fire. "The dragons just... cause so much mayhem and destruction. We have to protect ourselves, Lexa."

"You should try being friendly towards them." Lexa turns, watching as Octavia approaches them, Bellamy moving to lean on the back of Raven's chair. "It worked for my people."

"How can we if they burn us on sight?" Bellamy runs a harried hand through his hair. "Their intentions are bad, face it. We're prey."

"You don't know that," Clarke's voice is soft, but it draws the attention of everyone in the room.

"How can you say that?" Octavia is frowning it her, arms crossed over her chest, "after your dad..."

"That was-" Clarke swallows, her voice shaking just slightly and Lexa feels her stomach roll with pity, tightening her fingers around Clarke's for just a moment. "That was a terrible accident."

"Clarke you can't be serious." Bellamy is gaping at her and Octavia intervenes before he can continue, snapping.

"You were with me last time a dragon attacked! You saw what it did, just like me!"

"I know, I'm not excusing that but-"

"But what? You've suddenly forgotten the children with the third degree burns or the ones starving in the streets when their parents were burned alive?" Bellamy is furious, almost quivering with rage and Raven steps in before Clarke can retort, calming the argument with a sharp shout.

"Hey! Chill out, okay?" She waits a few beats, eyes darting between them to be sure they've all fallen quiet, before turning to Bellamy and Octavia. "I think we should listen to them," she talks over Octavia's protests. "The dragons are never going to be fully destroyed, you know that. And no one knows more about dragons than Lexa. She can help us."

All eyes swing to her and she considers her words for a moment, choosing carefully before her fingers tighten around Clarke's and she says, evenly. "I think Clarke and I should show you something."

\----

The feeling in her stomach, a constant pressing presence, gets stronger the closer their small party gets to the clearing, churning with her anxiety. The sun is beating down hotly, burning away the usual thick blanket of cloud cover and she can feel it blistering the skin of her shoulders and arms, despite the shelter of the tree they're paused beneath. The terrain is tough on Raven, whose leg is still swollen more than Clarke would like, the skin tight and flaming with infection. The girl is stubborn, more so than any one Clarke has ever met and though it's clear she needs the rest, their party has only come to a halt because Octavia threw herself to the ground and  declared that she wouldn't go on any further without water and rest.

It makes her anxious to sit around. She knows that Hlin can feel her worry from where she is most likely curled in the cave, devouring her most recent meal, and there are sparks of heat, unsettled and nervous in her stomach, Hlin's response. She paces, though she doesn't realise she's doing it until Bellamy casts her an irritated look, glancing back at Raven meaningfully and she freezes, planting her feet far apart and crossing her arms in an attempt to remain still.

"Here," the soft voice from behind her is not alarming, neither is the warm arm that slides around her waist, fingers resting against her hip. Lexa passes over the flask wordlessly and she accepts it with a grateful smile, tipping it back until cool, crisp water drains down her throat. "Stop worrying," Lexa advises her, lowly.

"They could kill her." The fear is etched into her voice like a line carved into the stone beneath her words. "They could kill _us_."

"You trust them." Lexa refutes, easily. "They are your friends."

"They _hate_ dragons."

"So did you." Lexa steps away to hand the flask back to Bellamy as Octavia heaves herself to her feet, grunting.

"How much further? These woods are killing me."

"Not far," she can feel her jaw twitching impatiently, waiting as Raven pushes off the tree trunk that had been bearing most of her weight. "We're close."

Silence falls among them when she turns and leads them further through the undergrowth. The walk has never seemed so far before, twigs and thorns ripping at her clothing and her skin as they tramp onwards, as if pulling at her, impeaching her to turn around, stay away. Her stomach churns nervously and her pace increases, eager for this to be done, for the danger to pass.

They emerge after what feels like hours, but were really only minutes. The clearing is much as it has always been, aside from the ashen carcases strewn around and the muddy footprints, claw marks carved against the rocks and the tree trunks. The small fire pit she and Lexa had created holds ash from old logs and twigs and close to it there sits an ashen patch of earth, evidence of where Hlin scorches the ground before she settles herself in to eat or clean herself or watch them spar with narrowed eyes.

The only thing blatantly missing is the dragon.

Clarke hesitates, holding up a hand and when she moves forward again it is without their company, feet careful on the ground as she turns slowly in a circle, eyes peering against the sun for any sign of Hlin.

"Hlin?" She calls out the name, but inside she reaches, centring herself as Lexa had taught her and searching for the dragon.

Unsurprisingly, there's a stirring from inside the cave, the faint echo of a growl and she hears Octavia gasp behind her at the sound as a flash of blue appears and Hlin slides from the darkness, leaping down the cliff. She bears her teeth at the newcomers, scales rippling in alarm even as she approaches, hunched and cautious. Her head nudges at Clarke's hip and ribs, pushing her closer and her tail curls protectively around the back of Clarke's legs as she reaches out a hand to pet the creature soothingly, her hand curling around her chin and over her ears. She feels a rush of relief at the feeling of warm skin beneath her, silvery eyes flickering over her as if looking for some sign of injury and hot breath rippling across her neck and cheeks.

"Hi," her voice is soft, soothing and she scratches at a spot just below Hlin's ear, making the dragon keen and lean into her touch. "Did you miss me?"

Hlin rumbles a response, but her eyes are moving back to the strangers on the edge of the clearing again.

"It's alright," her fingers move to run down over her jaw. "They're friends, Hlin. _Friends_."

"Clarke," Bellamy's words are cracked, voice shaking and unsteady. "What the hell is going on?"

"I told you they were friendly," she turns, though she's still restricted by Hlin's tail and she can feel the dragon's head coming to hover beside her shoulder, tilting to stare curiously at the group.

"Clarke has bonded to Hlin, they are connected as rider and beast." Lexa explains calmly and she steps just slightly forward. Hlin's eyes dart to her, but she does nothing when Lexa approaches, grumbling out a welcoming whine when Lexa touches the skin between her eyes, running down to her nose. " _Hei lokut."_ She is gentle, as she always is when she speaks with Hlin and when she stares at the dragon in silence for a moment, Hlin bowing her head just slightly, Clarke recognises the strange bond that Lexa has with the creature.

"You see?" Lexa says, stepping back towards the three frozen friends. "They are welcoming when you don't threaten them."

"This is crazy," Octavia breathes, but her eyes are shining with excitement.

"You must meet her before we can talk," Lexa tells them, as Clarke extracts herself from Hlin's protective hold.

The dragon swings her head around hurriedly to follow her and the heat in her stomach splutters with anxiety even as she reaches out to touch her neck. "Easy, play nice." She warns and Hlin's attention jumps back to the strangers when Raven steps forward.

"I want to meet her," she speaks quietly and her fingers work at the pack around her shoulders, pulling it over her head and throwing it to the side. Hlin watches it go curiously, hissing and baring her teeth when Bellamy shouts.

"Raven!"

"Quiet, Bell!" Octavia hushes him urgently, frozen in place watching Raven move slowly towards the dragon.

"Approach slowly," Lexa warns, "when you are a few paces away you should bow your head and hold your palm out, but don't look her in the eye."

Raven's feet shake as she moves closer, but she does not hesitate, doing as Lexa says until she is stood a few steps away, eyes averted, palm outstretched.

Tense, heavy silence stretches between them all, pulled taught until Clarke thinks it could snap. Hlin edges slowly closer to Raven, head tilting uncertainly, tongue flickering out to taste the air around her as she inches forward until finally, _finally_ , she moves her head to rest against Raven's hand.

The girl lets out a long, shuddering breath and raises her head to stare at the creature in front of her, meeting her eyes as her fingers circle warm skin and Clarke feels a shiver run through her.

"She's beautiful," Raven breathes, as Hlin rumbles lowly. Her eyes snap up and settle on Clarke, nodding firmly as she speaks. "We have to protect her. It's our only choice."

With her words, Clarke feels just a little lighter.

\----

When dusk begins to fall Raven, Octavia and Bellamy stand reluctantly to head back to the village. The ground is littered with the remainder of fish skeletons and Hlin lies close to Clarke, curled up peaceful and sated on the warm ground. Though it had taken some time to convince Octavia and Bellamy, when they had finally settled around the camp fire it had been with open hearts and excited conversation. The three friends had peppered Lexa with questions and Clarke had smiled, leaning back into Hlin's warmth to watch the brunette patiently answer each query.

The conclusion had been foregone.

They must protect the dragons, no matter what.

"Well I'm no use on the catapults any more," Raven had spoken bitterly, ripping through the flesh of a fresh fish. "Jaha threw me off after we cut you down from those posts, said my priorities were wrong."

"And Kane has been putting me on the worst shifts, guarding the outskirts of the village at night." Bellamy shrugs, irritation coursing through him. "I probably know less than anyone, now."

"We'll figure it out," she'd tried to sound confident, but she knows it had fallen flat when they had shifted uncertainly.

"That went better than I expected," Lexa admits, as they watch the three figures disappear through the undergrowth. The sky is burning orange and pink, the slash of red like an open wound and she gazes up at it for a moment, thinking on her answer.

"They will help us now."

"I hope so," Lexa rises fluidly and Hlin grumbles, blinking open an eye to watch her but doing nothing when Lexa lowers herself to the ground beside Clarke, leaning back against Hlin's warm body. "You showed real bravery today."

"Not really," she refutes, pushing at the hair that falls in front of her face. Her eyes wander down to her feet, tracing over the criss crossing laces of her boots and a flush of pink heats at the tips of her ears and the curve of her cheeks. "All I did was lead them here."

"But to show them Hlin," Lexa counters softly, "I know how difficult it is, you are protective of her just as she is of you. You are one now."

"I feel strange," she concedes, hesitating. Her eyes dart back up to see Lexa, patient and waiting for her to continue, "complete in a way I never have before."

"A rider is meant for a dragon from birth," Lexa tells her solemnly, "it is no surprise that you feel as if you have found a real purpose."

"I'm not just talking about Hlin, Lexa."

The sunset bathes them in pink, dusty light, heavy and quiet and she sees Lexa's eyes widen, sees the way she swallows nervously. Fingers inch across the ground, curling over hers and the touch finally draws Lexa's eyes over to meet her gaze, soft with heartbreakingly tentative uncertainty. Carefully, aware of every movement, she shuffles closer so that their legs press together, hip to toe. She can feel the warmth of Lexa's skin through the layers of hide and the tense twitch of her muscles, jumping anxiously as eyes like the forest in summer shoot from her eyes to her lips.

"What are you talking about?" There's a shake to Lexa's voice, a tremble and quiver that betrays her despite her clenched jaw and the words almost make Clarke roll her eyes.

"Don't be an idiot," there's a smile on her lips, dancing at the corners of her mouth as if waiting for the perfect opportunity and she tilts her head forward, fingers brushing up over her strong jaw to nudge at the back of her head, drawing them together until their lips meet in a soft, tender touch.

" _Oh_ ," Lexa breathes when she pulls away and her eyes are alight with laughter, "that's what you're talking about."

She shakes her head slightly, their faces so close that she can tip forward and rest her forehead against Lexa's, feel the cool touch of her nose upon her own as she rolls her eyes. "You're so ridiculous." The affection rests heavy in her voice, like morning dew upon tentative spring leaves and Lexa's laughter rushes over her skin.

"My apologies," her lips brush against Clarke's, tantalisingly close, "maybe with practice I'll get better."

Their lips meet again, hands touching soft, open skin and she shifts forward until she is almost straddling Lexa's lap and familiar hands fall to rest at her hips, sitting there like matching pieces of a puzzle until suddenly Lexa is tumbling backwards, tearing her lips away with an alarmed yelp as Hlin emits a put out growl and stands.

Laughter spills from her lips unbidden as the dragon nudges at her with her head irritably and she climbs off Lexa, holding out a hand to help her to her feet, brushing the dried mud off her.

"She doesn't like sharing," she holds out a hand for the dragon and Hlin hisses butting at it and nipping very gently with her teeth.

"She wants you all for herself," Lexa rolls her eyes, curling her fingers around the hand that Clarke still holds out for her.

Clarke sighs exaggeratedly, shaking her head at the sceptical looking dragon as Lexa frowns.

"There's one thing you haven't done with her."

"What's that?" Clarke turns to look at her, tilting her head curiously.

"Ride her."

\----

Hlin shifts beneath her, clearly uncertain about this new venture and she can feel herself slide, the leather of her pants slippery against hard, smooth scales. The joints of the dragons front legs rest just below her and the only thing that seems to keep her upright is Lexa's grip, her hands tight around her waist.

"Do you ride like this in battle?" Her voice is shaking just slightly, hands splayed out across Hlin's neck. From here she can feel the dragon breathing, the heavy inhale and exhale beneath her body and her legs and hands feel warm.

"No," Lexa shakes her head, thumbs stroking in pleasant circles against her skin. "We have harnesses that keep us upright. But often we are fighting, using weapons and taking difficult turns. You can't shoot an arrow off a dragon's back unless there is something holding you in place."

"You can shoot an arrow off Tyr's back?" She turns, straining to look at the girl over her shoulder, eyes wide with amazement and Lexa laughs softly.

"Yes, since I was young, though bows are not my choice method of fighting."

"What is?" She's almost afraid to ask and yet she can't seem to fight her curiosity.

"The katana, a type of long sword from the east." She can feel Lexa's smile in her voice as she continues, "but in my younger days I favoured throwing daggers and I still harbour a fondness for them."

"Are you good?" The words are a breath, barely louder than an echo and there's a second of silence before Lexa answers.

"I'm deadly."

The shiver that runs down her spine makes Lexa laugh, a rough, throaty sound and she feels heat pool in her cheeks again, glaring back at the girl and reaching back to slap at her thigh.

"Shut up. What do I do? How do I make this work?"

"Well, first things first don't hit your instructor." Lexa tells her, amusement still laced through her voice and she shuffles closer until Clarke can feel her pressed against her back, her legs flush with Clarke's thighs and her chin resting on her shoulder. "You can feel her strongly now, can't you?"

She nods, her fingers splaying against Hlin's scales. It's strange being so close to her, as if she can feel Hlin's warmth radiating up through her body and settling into a hot, glowing orb in her stomach, bright and powerful. "I feel connected to her."

"Good, use that connection. Just tell her what you want, think the words and she will know it is you instinctually. But be careful," she cautions, "I cannot control her, I can only guide you."

"You can't?" Panic flares through her and she feels Hlin move beneath the, carrying them forward a step as she swings her head about to eye them impatiently.

"None but the rider can control a dragon."

"Only the Heda," she remembers, nodding and Lexa is quiet for a second, her voice faint when she speaks.

"Only according to legend, Clarke. Now," she curls her hands around her hips a little more tightly. "Think _fly_."

"Fly?"

Hlin jerks into action almost immediately. A gasp rushes from her body as wings like the ocean stretch outwards and Lexa encircles her waist with her arms, urging her forward to slip her hands around Hlin's neck, clinging to slick, bright scales as the dragon bounds two forward, wings beating at the air to heave her body off the ground and into the sky, wrenching herself upwards. A squeak escapes Clarkes, but her eyes are fixed open widely, unable to look away as the ground disappears beneath them. Her fingers are white knuckled in their grip, grasping at Hlin as her body jerks beneath them before finally smoothing out, steadying as they rise further and further into the air.

The trees become dark pinpricks in the ground, the stream a silver ribbon strewn across a tapestry and Lexa moves away behind her, nudging her to encourage her eyes upwards and her lips stretch into a smile so wide that it almost hurts. She can follow the path of the stream, stretching it back to its birthplace in the stony, looming mountains and watching as it grows, carving a path through the land until it opens into the sea, sliding like a knife through the centre of her village. Small houses gather like worried fishwives, no more than freckles against the land as Hlin hovers high in the sky and she stares, a short, breathless laugh escaping her.

"How do you feel?" Lexa's voice is soft against her ear, gentle and cajoling and she shakes her head in disbelief.

"I don't know how to explain it... I'm just-" she trails off, floundering for the right words as widened eyes seek out every inch of the land she can see.

"Free," Lexa finishes quietly and she swallows heavily, quiet for a moment before nodding.

"Finally free."

"Hlin will listen to you now," Lexa explains after a moment, "you need only tell her what you want. Make the sky yours, Clarke."

"I never want to land again." She runs a hand along Hlin's scales, "I want to see everything. _Go Hlin_."

Wings flap around them and she leans forward to tighten her grip again as Hlin seems to raise herself up, before shooting forwards. She moves faster than Clarke could ever imagine, flashing through the air with every movement of her powerful wings. They journey away from the village, out over the sea and Hlin swoops playfully closer to the water, tilting to run the edges of her wings against the crystal surface. When Clarke leans over she sees her own face reflected back at her, cheeks whipped red by the wind, hair tangled and wild, a smile the size of the half moon painted across her cheeks and behind her Lexa's eyes, that are always so old and wise, are light with laughter and adventure, her chin pressed against Clarke's shoulder, arms tight around her waist.

Hlin circles happily, glad to stretch her wings, and rushes them up into the air, away from the water at such a pace that she almost squeals, the wind loud around her ears as Hlin weaves through the air. Strong wings guide them back towards the land again to rush so close to the treetops that Clarke can smell the pine needles, see the startled animals scattering on the forest floor below until suddenly there is only steely grey beneath them and the air is cooler, harsher against her exposed skin and they are in the mountains. Hlin seems to know instinctually when to move, but her heart still leaps to her throat every time the dragon ducks and swoops around rock faces and through tunnels and arches forged from the stone by years of water and wind and snow.

Exhilarated, adrenaline filled laughter bursts from her and she feels Lexa's throaty chuckle from behind her, her breath hot on her cheek.

 _Higher_ , she thinks, but before she can say the word Hlin is pushing herself up into the sky, through the dull cloud cover until suddenly this is only startling, beautiful light, the sunset that is otherwise hidden from them washing the world in pink and orange and blue, with only the fluffy, rolling blanket of clouds beneath them. Hlin allows her wings to catch the wind, billowing so that they are abruptly steady again, flying easily forwards through the quiet air.

"What do you think?" Lexa asks, ever so quietly, in her ear and she lets out a long, shaking sigh.

"It's more than I ever thought it would be."

"You aren't scared?"

She hesitates for a moment, hands running up and down Hlin's neck as she thinks and the dragon cranes her head around to meet Clarke's eye, as if reassuring herself she's still there. "No," she smiles, just slightly, "I trust Hlin, she'll always keep me safe."

"Flying is one of the best ways to build a bond with a dragon," Lexa tells her, hands loosening around her waist. "It will help to keep you strong, together. This feeling you have," she runs her hands over the spot beneath Clarke's ribs, where she can feel the warmth of Hlin's closeness pulsing beneath her skin, "it will never fade. You will be companions for life, you will have to find a way to coexist with her, Clarke."

"I know, just," she runs her fingers over the back of Lexa's hand, entangling their grip until their hands are tethered together, pulling her close. "No more lesson for today, hmm?" When she turns Lexa's face is close and a smile plays on her lips. "Just... _be_. We're free here together, don't you want to enjoy that?"

"I will always want to be free with you, Clarke."

She swallows, considering the words that lie heavily on her tongue, weighing it down like copper coins, before she finally speaks. "We could take you back to your land, if you wanted? It would be easy."

She feels Lexa shift behind her, senses her uncertainty like a wave crashing through them both. "No," Lexa answers at last and it feels like a confession, an admittance of guilt. "I can't leave my people here."

Clarke's nod is quiet, her throat tight and she lets a few moments of silence sit between them before she tightens her grip on Lexa's hand. "You're a good person Lexa and I'm selfish because I'm- I'm glad to keep you here."

"Thank you." The tired age is returning to her eyes and she yearns to ask what weighs so heavily on her, what could possibly burden her mind so much to cut through her happiness, but Lexa rests her head against her shoulder, cheek coming to press against her jaw and she seems so filled with unstoppable longing that Clarke can only hold her and hope that her presence is something of a help. "You're right," Lexa's breath is warm against her cheek again when she speaks and she can't help but notice the way her voice catches, the glisten of moisture against her cheek as she shuts her eyes and lets out a long sigh. "No more lessons. Let's just fly, it's been too long."

"Wherever you want," the words feel like a promise.

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for reading and commenting. This is it guys. This is what I call The Turning Point. Hope you're all ready. If you come and bug me on tumblr I'll probably give you a sneak peek of next weekend's chapter, just saying (@onemilliongoldstars).  
> (it's dramatic af)


	10. conflict of loyalties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for your comments lovelies! Enjoy!

  1. _conflict of loyalties_



The creak of the floor board startles her awake so suddenly that for a moment she is disorientated. It's habit that keeps her sleeping so lightly, drilled into her by Anya- impatiently prodding her awake in all hours of the night for one random task or another- and by the thunder of war. Now she reels, twisting in her bed of hay to peer through the darkness to where a pin prick of light comes from near the ladder. Her back twinges with pain, still aching from the recently removed stitches, and she grits her teeth, eyes narrowing as she tries to make out who the figure is, approaching her with a candle held high.

"Clarke?"

"No," the voice is more familiar than breathing and she lets out a sigh of relief, a smile pulling at her lips when she sees Anya's lean features come into view, the light from the candle dancing off her high cheekbones. "It is me."

"Anya," she stands to greet her friend, guiding her to place the candle on the upturned crate before clasping her hand tightly. "I am glad to see you well."

"And I you," Anya squeezes her hand and leads them down to the abandoned palate of straw, shifting uncomfortably as Lexa reaches over to use Anya's candle to light her own, wrinkling her nose at the combined smell of tallow fat burning. "How are you? How is your back?"

"Fine," she tries to brush off her mentor's concern, but Anya stays firm.

"Turn, let me see."

She rolls her eyes, but does as she is bid, shivering a little when cool fingers settle at the hem of her tunic and lift it. The woman behind her lets out a long hiss at the sight of the wounds marring her back and Lexa feels hot breath against her skin as Anya leans closer to inspect them.

"You have at least been well treated, the sky girl didn't lie."

"Sky girl?" Lexa shuffles back around so that she is facing Anya again, "Clarke?"

Anya wrinkles her nose, "the Griffin girl," she bites out stiffly, "she assured me that she was capable of caring for you."

"She did a good job," she ducks her head, hiding her smile in the shadows the candles cast over her face.

Anya is quiet for a moment, but when she speaks again it is with careful consideration. "I did not only come here to see that you were well. I must know what you plan to do Lexa."

"Plan to do?" She is momentarily flummoxed and in the time it takes for her to understand, Anya's expression crumples with disappointment.

"I see. You have lost your path."

"What?" Her eyes widen in surprise, "of course I haven't, don't be absurd."

"You have become misguided and distracted," Anya runs her hands through her hair, clearly distressed. "I thought my tutorage would be enough, but I never prepared you for a situation such as this. Being so far from home, so far from Tyr... the  _ faya kom keyron  _ is weak here, the spirits of the riders of old are not here to guide you."

"I have not been misguided, Anya." She employs every ounce of strength she can muster, every echo of past Hedas to ground her words heavily in her friend's heart. "I am the Heda, I was chosen to be the Heda and I know what I am doing."

"Then what is to be made of your relationship with the Griffin girl?" Anya counters, gravely. "I see you slip away to the forest together every day. Do you think I do not remember what the children of our homeland do in the forests, when they are young and still discovering themselves? You do not have that luxury, Lexa."

She splutters, gasping for words and working to keep her voice low lest she wake up the rest of the household. "You think that I am going to the forest with Clarke for childish wiles?"

"Are you not?" Anya snaps and she bristles with fury.

"No! I am ashamed that you do not have more faith in me than that, Anya. Abby Griffin often sends me out to the forest to find herbs she needs, Clarke accompanies me to be of assistance."

"If you have no attachment to the girl then let us enact our strategy," Anya implores, "give the order, burn this village to the ground and take us  _ home _ , Heda."

She hesitates and the silence fills the air like heavy smoke, choking them both until Lexa finally mutters. "I cannot do that."

" _ Why _ ?"

"The innocent-"

"Damn their innocent!" Anya explodes and she holds out her hands, hushing her as she sends anxious eyes down to the ladder. Anya's voice lowers, but it still burns with fury. "Lexa, these people almost whipped every last scrap of skin off your back. They enslave your people, humiliate our great nation and yet still you will do nothing." She swallows, chewing on her lip but Anya ploughs on, "do you know that they separated babes from their mothers? That there are people-  _ your  _ people- who have not seen their children in weeks, do not know if they live or die? Did you know that they took a finger from Madok? The  _ tongue _ from Ranou?"

" _ What _ ?" She surges forward, catching Anya by the shoulders, "when? When did this happen?"

"Ever since our show of strength they have been becoming harsher, dealing out violence and pain with barely a blink." Anya pushes her away, snarling, "but you wouldn't know that, you've been too busy with your  _ strolls _ ."

"No, Anya please, you must understand-"

"Understand that you have forgotten your duty? I do!"

"I am helping Clarke learn to  _ bond _ with her dragon!"

The quiet that follows her statement makes each word feel as if it is falling heavily against her heart, like boulders from a hilltop, each one cracking the shell that she has created around the small world she and Clarke share, splintering it until harsh, burning light rushes through the gaps.

"Her dragon?"

"Clarke has... bonded with a dragon." She swallows heavily, unable to look Anya in the eye.

"There is a dragon here? In this land?"

"I found her," she inclines her head in agreement, "she was injured and stranded, I gave her food and comfort. I was intending to heal her back to full health but Clarke appeared one day and suddenly... Hlin was hers."

"Hlin?" Anya's eyes shoot upwards, "she has named her? And after one of the Mother's gods?"

"I assisted, she needed a name to cement the bond so I gave her a word for the feeling she described."

"This changes things." Anya observes quietly, "use the dragon, escape and rally our forces, then return with an army." Her eyes are bright with opportunity and excitement, but Lexa can only shake her head.

"I will not abandon my people Anya, and besides," she barrels through before Anya can argue, "Hlin is not my dragon, she tolerates me only because Clarke favours me."

"You are the  _ faya kom keyron _ , Lexa, the greatest rider of them all." Anya's voice is reverent. "You know that you control any dragon."

"That is myth-"

"The elders claim that it is so, those who see all as the Mother sees it."

"I cannot put my faith in an old wives' tale, Anya."

"Whatever you do," Anya rises fluidly, bending to collect her candle, "you must decide soon, Lexa." Grave eyes meet hers through the thin light, "or our people will surely perish."

\----

She stands beside a rickety old stall, tattered hangings draped off each corner and filled with holes and patches after being torn apart by the wind and the rain. On the surface and rammed through rusty old pegs, creaking from the frame, sits an array of meat in all shapes and sizes and the arrogant man behind the stall is watching her, his lip curled as she looks over his selection. She lingers, pretending to debate over a slice of oxen thigh, but really her eyes are caught by the child who stands beside his stall, a heavy chain clipped around her neck, occasionally scampering forwards to bat away stray insects that dare to land on the man's goods.

Though her dark hair is cropped short and she wears scraps of clothing, Lexa recognises her as Darreck's youngest girl, no more than five. She is too young to be separated from her mother and yet here she stands, shadows beneath her eyes, shoulders hunched. She remembers the child being born, remembers the face of one of her best generals when he had emerged from his home with a squirming bundle in his eyes and dropped before her on his knees.

"It's a girl, Heda," he had proclaimed and though she had been no more than fourteen summers herself, she had taken the child in her arms- as Anya had taught her to do- and placed a kiss to her forehead and murmured the blessing of their people against her skin.

Now, she watches the child closely, waiting until the stall owner loses interest in her to stumble and drop the items in her basket, crouching down close to the little girl to collect them. The child dashes to grab an escaping apple, bending to return it to her and when she sees Lexa's face she gasps, her mouth dropping open.

" _ Heda _ ," she breathes, no more than a sigh and Lexa tugs on her hand, brings her down to the floor on the pretence of helping her as she speaks, hurriedly.

"Eva, where is your mother?"

The little girl's lower lip trembles at the mention of her mother, but the tears in her eyes do not fall as she shakes her head. "I don't know. I haven't seen her."

"You haven't seen her?" She echoes, aghast, "where are you staying? With this man?"

Eva nods, her hand grasping at Lexa's. "There are four of us, the others are mean to me because I'm the littlest but mother said I had to be strong. She said Heda would find a way out."

"I will." She swallows down the hard lump in her throat, holding the girl's hand until she is drawn away by the sharp words of the old man at the stall.

As she walks away, each step seems heavier than the last.

\----

The sound of shouting is the first thing that alerts her to trouble. She releases the heavy axe in her hands, glad of the momentary rest from the excruciating work of splitting logs, and runs her hands over her lower back, rubbing at the aching muscles. Lazily, she follows the sound towards the fall of the hill, on the opposite side to the village. Here only  charred farmland lies, the empty paddocks and ruined fields a stark reminder of the suffering the Sky People will feel when the thick coat of winter falls upon them.

Leaning against the side of a longhouse, she peers down the slope and jolts when she sees the cause of the commotion.

At least a dozen men hold chains, straining to keep them tight and in place as they haul their way across the grass. Attached by clips and collars and leather is Hlin, her strong, blue body writhing against her captivity. Her wings are strapped to her side by lengths and lengths of rope and she is muzzled by some sort of metal contraption across her mouth, trapping her flame.

Her stomach twists nastily and for a moment she thinks she will retch up the thick stew Fern had brought out for her earlier than day. She is trembling, her legs shaking beneath her and she leans heavily against the longhouse, her fingers curling so tightly against the wall that her knuckles turn white in an effort not to dart out from the shadows and cut Hlin loose.

"Tell Abby immediately," the voice of Chancellor Jaha is enough to make her cringe back, pressing herself against the wood to listen as he and the man she's heard called Kane come to a stop close by. "And round up every slave from the eastern lands and have them barricaded into the surf hall. I won't have anyone trying to set it free."

Her eyes widen and she watches for one last moment as Hlin is hauled, growling and clawing at the ground, out of sight.

Spinning, she takes off running across the hilltop, dodging and ducking between longhouses and huts, her back pressing against walls to slip through the shadows. She can already hear the shouting, the clang of guard's uniforms as they rush by and she slides between two huts, pushed into the space between the two walls so that she can peer down into the village, watching with a sinking heart as her people are dragged, protesting, from houses and gathered like cattle in the market square. Two guards pass by and she ducks her head, turning her back slightly and melting into the darkness until they are gone and she can crane her head out to watch their retreating forms.

Adrenaline races through her veins and she lingers only long enough to see them rap hard knuckles against the door of Abby's longhouse, before quick feet hurry her out into the open again. A running slave will surely draw attention and hiding in the woods would mean passing farmland and curious eyes. She can't bring herself to abandon her people or Hlin, whose furious, terrified aura she can feel just brushing against her own and so she does the only thing she can think of when she hears the pounding footsteps of guards drawing nearer, rushing forward to slam through the door of the workshop.

Raven's eyes dart up from where she is leaning over her desk, examining something and her mouth falls open in protest before she spots Lexa's wide eyes and the heaving breaths she is dragging in through a rough throat.

"Lexa, what-" she stands, moving closer with arms outstretched carefully, as if she is approaching a wild animal.

"Can you hide me?" Her words are harried and fast, back pressed against the door as she listens to the shouting voices, the cries that echo up from the village.

"Hide you from what?" Raven shakes her head, exasperated as she moves towards the window and peers out through the dirty glass, eyes creasing as she squints at the figures.

"The guards caught Hlin, I don't know how," she answers the question before Raven can voice it. "They're rounding up my people like animals- you have to hide me!"

The pounding on the door interrupts them and her widened eyes dart to Raven pleadingly, waiting as the girl swallows uncertainly before nodding, gesturing across the workshop to the pile of furs in the corner. She throws herself away from the door, diving into the furs to curl up as small as she can, pulling them over her head until she is surrounded by heavy, musky material, dark and hot. The pounding comes again and she feels Raven throw another blanket across her as she yells out.

"Just a second!"

She can hear her heartbeat, ringing like a war cry in her ears and her breathing feels loud and heavy in the dark confines of her small prison. The scrape of the door against the dusty floor, the heavy gait of guards, the clinking of weapons strapping ominously at their waists and her breath freezes in her throat.

"Where's the girl?" A gruff voice, lumbering and slow.

"What girl?" Raven snaps, irritable, "hey! Be careful with that!"

"Tell us where she is, Reyes."

"I don't know who you lackwits are talking about," she hears the girl grunt, the brief sound of a struggle. "Put that down! That's worth more to Jaha than ten of you. There's no damn girl here!"

There's another scuffle, the sound of laboured breath and then the sickening crack of flesh against flesh, a harsh blow ringing through the workshop. Crashes follow, the thunderous sound of metal and glass and wood hitting the floor, sending trembles up through Lexa's body and she squeezes her eyes shut, willing herself to stay quiet as the ruckus continues over Raven's shouts of protest.

When silence finally falls it is almost loud again, the weight of it threatening to crush them all and she can hear the laboured breaths of men unused to battle and burdened by heavy armour.

"Remember your place, Reyes." The man says, at last. "And tell us if you see the slave girl, or there'll be hell to pay."

The clunk of boots passes close by her and she waits, listening as the door slams shut and finally, carefully, she pushes the furs and blankets away, emerging from her nest to blink against the daylight that stings her eyes. The room is a mess, littered with broken pieces of metal and wood and she stands on shaking legs, pressing her lips together when she sees how the men have overturned Raven's workbench, sending things rushing across the floor. Her belongings are scattered around and when the girl herself turns, she sees that her lip has been split, blood trailing down over the curve of her chin.

"I'm so sorry Raven." Her words are laden with guilt, eyes sorrowful as she surveys the damage, but Raven shakes her head.

"It wasn't you. They're brutes." She bends, with some difficulty, to collect a fragment of a project from the floor, toying with it in her hands. "They've caught Hlin?" She asks at last and Lexa looks up from where she is righting the fallen armchair.

"Yes," she swallows against the fear pooling in her stomach. "She is scared, I can feel her."

"Feel her?" Raven's eyes crease and Lexa moves to her knees to collect up the pots and plates now strewn across the floor. "I thought only riders could... sense their dragons."

"As Heda I have a connection to every dragon, faint but present." Lexa gathers the pots into her hands, stacking them neatly beside the burner. "It is legend. They say I can control any beast I wish, though it has never been done before."

"What are you going to do?"

She stands slowly, setting her jaw, "first I will set Hlin free, then I will set my people free."

"Lexa wait!" Raven catches her arm with hard fingers when she tries to pass her, pulling her to a stop. "Don't do anything reckless. What does Clarke say about this?"

"Clarke is on a fishing expedition with Octavia," she shakes off the mechanic's grip, "she will not return until gone nightfall."

"You're going to get yourself killed," Raven insists and she pauses at the door, looking back to her with sombre eyes.

"I can't just do nothing, Raven. These are my people, I have a duty to them."

\----

It is only in the cover of night that she can slip past the sentries guarding the surf hall, darting through the shadows until she is pressed against the wall, her hands running along the coarse wood until she finds a gap, a hole no larger than an apple where the two planks don't fit flush with each other. Inside she can hear the crying of children, infants keening for their mothers, the muttering of low voices, but otherwise it is quiet. A few flickering candles light the long hall, but it's too dim for her to make out any specific faces and she knocks quietly on the wood, crouched against the wall with a pounding heart.

Eyes appear, staring at her in surprise and the boy gasps out "Heda?"

The word ripples through the hall, murmurs running like wave down the clusters of people and she hushes them hurriedly.

"Fetch me Anya," she instructs, hurriedly and the boy nods, turning to repeat the instruction. Moments later darker eyes appear at the gap, looking through at her with a crinkle of amusement.

"You have such an aptitude for escaping tight spots, Heda."

"Is everyone alright?" She shifts on the balls of her feet, thighs shouting out in protest.

"Safe enough," Anya bows her head a little, "just claustrophobic and hungry. They haven't fed us, the babes are struggling."

"I'm going to get you out," she promises, "this ends here."

"You have a strategy?"

Lexa swallows nervously, nodding. "Your old wives' tales had best be true Anya, or this will never work."

"It will not fail you Heda," Anya promises, glancing back at their people huddled together, "work swiftly."

"I will. Remain strong,  _ faya na rena _ ."

"Fire will reign." Anya repeats, fervently and she rises fluidly from where she sits, eyes darting back to check for any guards before disappearing into the night again.

\----

She lingers close to Hlin's prison, made from thick layers of stone and a metal door, and watches the guard's change. There are fifteen of them, stationed only a few feet apart around the building in two rows and their change is efficient and swift, with little time left for her to slide between their ranks and open the door. It is only when she sees several guards step inside the building, not to return, that she realises that there must be an inner circle within the stone walls, a place where they can safely guard Hlin without being harmed.

Turning, she steps back into the shadows, slipping between the longhouses until she has managed to collect an old iron jug, left on a table outside and filled it with rainwater collected in a bucket. Then, crouching in the darkness, she slides a cloth up to cover her hair, tugging on her sleeves until they cover her arms and scoops the jug up into her hands again before standing to approach the building.

"Halt," one of the guards, a man who towers almost a foot above her, unsheathes his sword, holding it out threateningly and she hesitates, staring down at her feet as he glowers at her.

"Chancellor Jaha sent me with refreshments for those inside." She keeps her voice low, her eyes averted as the guard scoffs.

"What about us? Nothing for my boys?"

"More will be along shortly," she replies and he grunts, sheathing his sword again to allow her through.

At his nod, the guard closest swings open the metal door and she steps hesitantly inside, fingers curled tightly around the jug in her hands. It's hot in the room, stiflingly so and she hears the muffled whines and roars of the dragon before the door has shut behind her. In the centre of the room there is a deep pit , a low wall sitting around it and two men lean against it, looking down at Hlin with disgust, talking in low voices.

"Excuse me?" She speaks meekly, stepping closer until she is beside them and they look down at her, smug, antagonistic smiles on their faces. One man reaches for the jug silently, as the other turns back to the dragon pit again, but before he can place a hand on it she swings the jug up, the heavy iron colliding with a sharp crack and a ringing sound against his temple, sending him sprawling back over the wall and thudding sickeningly to the ground.

His comrade turns, eyes wide with surprise but she moves more quickly than him, clapping a hand over his mouth and twisting so that he is pressed against her, his back flush with her chest. Thick arms and heavy hands come up to claw at her hold and though she is lithe and quick, he is strong, biting at her hand and struggling against her one hand wrapping in her hair to wrench her back in front of him. The harsh stone of the low wall presses against her back as he leers over her, hands wrapped around her throat, squeezing so tightly that it's all she can do to grasp for the dagger attached to his belt and whip it out, slashing at his throat so suddenly that his eyes remain wide in alarm even as the life drains out of them. She can feel the hot liquid running down her forehead, rivulets tracing a path over her cheeks and nose and she shoves him away, letting his limp body slump to the side.

There is a ladder close by, resting against the wall, its feet stood in the pit and she pushes the dagger into her belt before venturing carefully downwards. It's dim down here, but the blazing torches above give just enough light to see by and she observes Hlin carefully, opening her hands and arms out to show that she means her no harm.

The dragon is no longer chained, though her muzzle remains and the chains that had once held her now trail after her in a loud, tinkling train. She moves closer and Lexa can see the way that she has clawed at the earth, turning it up beneath her feet, and the long white gashes she has left in the walls. Her wings are still strapped to her side and Lexa moves carefully closer, waiting until Hlin bows her head in recognition to run a hand over the bonds. They're too tight to unknot, but her fingers drift to the dagger at her belt and she reaches out for the dragon, placing soothing hands against her neck and snout. Her breathing is laboured, her eyes darting frantically and Lexa steadies herself for a moment before feeling for her aura, the small, sensitive ball of heat in her stomach.

" _ Chil au _ ," she repeats herself, "calm, young one," and beneath her hands she feels Hlin miraculously slacken, her breathing steadying to a careful rhythm.

"Anya was right," slowly, she withdraws her hands from the dragon, gazing down at them in amazement for a moment before Hlin lets out a puff of hot air and she jerks into action, hurrying around her body to slide the dagger beneath the ropes and slice through them. With a cry, Hlin's wings spring outwards and she crows, stretching them high and flapping so hard that Lexa is forced into a crouch to avoid being hit.

"Alright," she speaks aloud, running a hand along Hlin's back as the dragon calms a little, "let's see if this works." Carefully, she grabs a hold at the juncture where Hlin's wing meets her body and hauls herself upwards onto the dragon's back, resting her hands against the beast's scales as Hlin jolts, side stepping nervously and swinging around to peer at her.

She can feel Hlin's uncertainty and anger bubbling inside of her and she reaches out to calm the animal, cooing soothingly until Hlin stills, waiting and obedient.

Leaning forward against her neck, she grips on tightly before speaking against her skin. "Fly, Hlin."

The flurry of wings whips up the stray dirt around them as Hlin rises from the floor of the pit, landing on the walkway and scrambling for purchase as Lexa slides from her back and rams open the door. She can hear the dragon's shriek even from behind the muzzle and flinches backwards as Hlin shoulders her way through the door, sending it flying from its hinges, stone cracking and crumbling.

There are shouts of alarm from the guards outside, the swish of swords being unsheathed and she hears Hlin's roar echoing from inside her muzzle as she rushes from the building. Guards are swarming towards the dragon, weapons raised high and she circles, swiping at them with her deadly claws. A body flies through the air, hitting the wall of her prison with a sickening crack beside Lexa and she reaches out to drag the sword from his twitching body before hastened feet push her forward, raising the weapon to slash viciously at the side of a guard with an outstretched arrow in Hlin's direction.

He lets out a yell, falling to the floor with a crash of metal and his fellow guards turn to look at where she is wielding her sword over his fallen body. Hlin lashes out with her tail, but an arrow pierces her in the leg and she lets out a roar of pain. It's clear that she's struggling without her flames and Lexa fights her way through the guards, sword glinting in the light of the torches scattered around, wet with blood that she can feel trailing down her forehead and over her shoulders. There are injuries, cuts and gashes that she will later have to attend to, but there is no pain instead it is overshadowed with the familiar feeling of adrenaline rushing through her veins, lighting her on fire.

She scrambles up onto Hlin's back and the dragon knows what to do instinctively, wings stretching out to lift them into the air. It becomes obvious after only a moment, however, that the animal is flagging, her injuries and the heavy chains still trailing from her limbs making her moan in pain, slow and ungainly through the air. They are still within an arrow's shot and she ducks, pressing herself against Hlin's back to narrowly avoid a flying shaft as she feels Hlin dip, rippling with pain beneath her. She peers around the dragon's body, cringing when she sees that the dragon has been pierced in the soft flesh beneath her leg.

Hlin can't carry them both, they sink and waver, ever closer to the ground, ever more vulnerable and she stares at the ground, her hands tightening around her weapons as she speaks. "Fly, find safety."

Before the dragon can turn and pierce her with silvery, accusing eyes, she slides from her back, bracing her legs as she flies through the air, landing with a stumble onto the ground.

Guards horde around her and she spins on her heels, meeting each blow that comes her way with one of her own, the clash of metal against metal ringing out through the village. She holds her own as long as she is able, but she is far outnumbered and though the guards lack her technique and training, they have brute force on their side. She fights only long enough to see Hlin's dark form disappearing into the sky before dropping her weapons to the ground. A harsh slice rips through her now undefended flesh, lashing across her arm and she falls away from it, strong arms grabbing her, landing a few punches to her weakened body before the hilt of a sword smashes against the side of her head and she drops.

As the edges of her vision swim and darken she hears Hlin's betrayed whine and the roar of a familiar black dragon igniting somewhere deep in her heart.

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you again for your comments on the last chapter! Let me know below what you thought... I did warn you about drama. Brace yourselves for next chapter and if you can't wait come bug me on tumblr @onemilliongoldstars and I'll probably (definitely) give you spoilers/meta/answer any qs. I love hearing from you guys!


	11. the choices we make

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is a tad late, thank you for your patience and your wonderful comments!

  1. _the choices we make_



The fish in the basket between her and Octavia heave and threaten to spill over the edge of the coarse wicker and Clarke grunts as she rolls her shoulder, attempting to steady their swinging load.

"Come on, Clarke." Octavia is cajoling beside her, but equally breathless under the heavy weight. "Only a little bit further, put your back into it."

She can't even gather the energy to tease back, so instead she casts the dark haired girl a glare even as Octavia laughs loudly. They drop the basket off with the rest of the catch, at the storage huts closest to the sea. Normally they would both wrinkle their noses at the stench of dried fish coming from within the wooden walls, but after a whole day at sea they are too used to it to notice, instead stretching their arms out and sighing heavily as they start up the gentle slope towards the centre of the village. A feeling of strange discomfort, something between uncertainty and fear has been niggling at Clarke all day, worming its way into her stomach. She’d dismissed it as nausea from the rocking of the waves against the ship’s hull, but it lingers despite having her feet on solid ground and she tries to swallow it away as Octavia starts talking.

"I'm going to eat and collapse into bed," Octavia informs her, rubbing absently at her aching shoulder. "If Bell hasn't saved me some dinner I'll slaughter him with his own sword."

Clarke laughs, swinging her pack from one shoulder to the other in an effort for relief from the weight. "I don't know, he's not exactly the best cook. I hope you're ready for charred rabbit and cold potatoes."

"Even that sounds good right now," Octavia groans in appreciation, arms wrapping around her stomach as twinkling eyes slide over to her. "We both know why _you're_ so eager to get home, anyway."

"Fern's cooking," she replies, adamantly but Octavia arches an eyebrow, staring at her until she cracks, smiling shyly. "It'll be good to see Lexa again too."

"You want to get to bed for an entirely different reason." Octavia dodges quickly out of the way of her outraged smacks, laughing as she sidesteps before her mirth suddenly trails off and her eyes narrow, staring up into the village. "Hey... what's going on up there?"

Clarke follows her gaze, frowning when she sees the village people gathered in the square, like little flocks of birds chirping anxiously in their nightclothes. There are guards stationed outside of the surf hall and torches glow, illuminating the strange night time scene to them.

They approach hurriedly, sore feet pushing them closer until suddenly a hand wraps around Octavia's arm, yanking her backwards into the shadows. Clarke spins, eyes widening and she searches through the dark for the culprit until Bellamy's face appears, beckoning her back into the alley between two houses.

"Thank god, I've been waiting all fucking night for you two!" He runs a hand through tangled hair, eyes wide and bloodshot and he seems frantic.

"What's happening?" Her eyes dart back to the gathered people.

"Clarke, they caught _Hlin_."

Everything is silent for a moment. She is still, frozen in place, until Bellamy reaches out hesitantly and brushes his fingers against her arm and suddenly she is frantic, ripping herself away to rush towards the mouth of the alley.

"Wait!" Bellamy yanks her back into the shadows again, "she's fine, okay? Lexa got her out."

"Lexa... set Hlin free?" She echoes his words as if in a daze, blinking at him, barely coherent. "What? How?"

"I don't know but-" he swallows nervously, eyes darting between the two of them, "Hlin got away but... they have Lexa. They've sentenced her to death."

\----

She is barely aware of her feet slipping in the mud as she pushes up towards the crowd gathered before the surf hall. People shout of each other, clamouring to be heard and she spies Kane stood near the doors, guards behind him, holding out his hands for peace. Hands on her arms and waist pull her to a stop and she turns, baring her teeth furiously, like a trapped animal, in Bellamy and Octavia's direction.

"Calm down," Bellamy hisses, eyes flickering up to Kane warily.

"You won't help her by trying to cut Kane in two," Octavia adds, tugging on her waist to bring her stumbling backwards.

"Let me go!" She tries to yank herself from their grasp but the two siblings stay strong and sturdy and Kane's voice distracts them all.

"Please!" He is yelling to be heard over the racket of angry voices. "We will get your slaves back to you!"

"You can't just take them with no explanation!" Vincent, owner of the meat stall, complains. "They're our property!"

"Yeah!" Other voices join him in agreement.

"Either you tell us what's going on, or you give us back our slaves!" A cheer rises up and Kane pushes at his hair, clearly harried, eyes darting back to the guards uncertainly before he finally nods, reluctant.

"Fine." Behind him, two guards begin to haul the doors open and they watch as hesitant eyes peer out of the darkness and blink uncertainly at them.

The slaves are huddled together, families clinging to one another and in front of them a line of tall, muscular people stand, their stances defensive. There is a long moment of silence, the distance between the Sky People and the Tree People like a gaping, yawning chasm until finally they begin to move hesitantly out of the hall, breaking the spell of stillness that lies over them all.

Owners move forward to claim their property and Clarke, Octavia and Bellamy hang back, watching in distaste as families are separated, children pulled crying from the arms of their mothers, couples exchanging chaste kisses and words of affection before they are forced their separate ways, friends clasping hands, speaking strange, foreign words to one another.

"They meant to contain them by locking them up," Bellamy confides in them, voice low. "But I think they made them angrier, brought them together."

Clarke nods absently, but her searching eyes finally land on their target and she hurries forward, grabbing Anya's arm and pulling her away before anyone else can lay a claim to her. The woman glowers and struggles slightly from her grasp, but follows them away from the circle of light cast by the glowing torches until they are safely shadowed in darkness.

"Anya, we need your help."

"Help?" The woman scoffs, wrinkling her nose and yanking herself out of Clarke's grip to back away a pace, eyeing them all warily. Clarke can feel a fight coming on, can feel her clamming up much in the same way that Lexa used to and she speaks before Anya can argue.

"Lexa was caught trying to free the dragon and they've sentenced her to death." The words still don't feel real, though they have been echoing through her mind since the moment Bellamy said them.

Anya blinks, momentarily stunned and panic flickers through her eyes before they harden like stone, her mouth setting into a firm line. "Your people are barbaric. You always have been."

"I'm not here to debate philosophy with you!" Her voice rises, ricocheting angrily off the walls of the houses around them and Bellamy hushes her quickly, Octavia's soothing touch coming to rest on her shoulder as she gathers herself, gritting her teeth against the fear that threatens to flood through her body. Anya seems unimpressed by her outburst and she pushes down her emotions, crushing them into a small, hard ball, breathing out a shaking breath before she says, as calmly as she can. "We need your help to free her. You can create a distraction."

"You will be able to her break her out alone?" The woman raises a sceptical eyebrow, but her hands are shaking, pressed into fists at her sides.

"If you can distract the village long enough for us to, then yes."

Anya observes them for a moment, her gaze flickering from Bellamy to Octavia, before finally settling on Clarke. "I may have an idea."

\----

She wakes to her mother's footsteps beating an anxious rhythm through the house. Carefully, she presses herself up from her curled position in the chair before the fire,  pushing aside the fur that had been draped over her all night.

"Mom?" Her voice is rough with sleep, scraping over the words as she rubs at her eyes, peering through the dark longhouse to where her mother stands at the door, pulling on her boots.

"Clarke," Abby turns, startled and smiles weakly at her. "Why aren't you in bed sweetheart?"

"Couldn't sleep," it isn't exactly a lie and when she throws her furs to the floor she makes sure that they land with a muffled thump over the blades beside her chair. "What's going on?" Now that's she fully awake she can hear the ruckus from outside, shouting and screams and the angry, ever familiar crackle of flames.

"There's a fire," her mother reaches to grab her medicine pouch. "It's spreading quickly and they need all hands on deck."

"What? Where is it?" She stands, stretching her stiff muscles.

"Down near the market square, at the centre of the village." Abby tightens the knot on her belt with a firm tug and looks up at her sternly. "Stay here Clarke, I'm serious. This is no place for kids."

She bristles a little at the word but nods her agreement, "hey, mom," Abby pauses, looking back at her from the doorway and she swallows, "be safe, okay?"

"I will." Her mother nods, smiling weakly before she turns to hurry out of the door and Clarke waits three counts before spinning on her heel to scoop up the two swords and hurry from the house.

Around the corner, pressed against the dark wood, Bellamy and Octavia stand watching the flames. The light flickers, creating shadows from the crests and dips of their faces and she hesitates for a moment, daring herself to look back at the damage she has caused but unable to do it. Instead, she thrusts one of the blades at Octavia, who tears herself away from the carnage below them to take it with a grim nod. Bellamy's own weapon is still strapped to his side and Clarke slides her sword into the makeshift guard hanging from her belt.

"Ready?" She asks finally and Bellamy pulls himself away from the fires to nod. "Okay, let's go."

They track a path over the top of the hill and down the far side, the rise of the land finally hiding the flames from them and she feels like a coward for being relieved. The guards stations and jails, which are normally heavily manned, are almost deserted and she holds out a hand, bringing them to a halt as she hesitates behind a workshop. One guard stands sentry beside the jail, others are patrolling between stations but they are distracted and distant and she motions to Octavia, who slips easily away, her hand firm over the pouch at her side.

Raising a hand to Bellamy, she unclips her sword and leaves it lying in the long grass before emerging from their hiding place to make her way as confidently as she can towards the guard on watch. He only sees her when she is close enough for the torch wedged into a holder on the wall to illuminate her and he stands a little taller, eyes creasing until his forehead smoothes out with recognition.

"Clarke Griffin."

"Grant," she nods in acknowledgement, "I'm here to see my surf."

"I can't let you in there Clarke, you know that."

"I should be allowed to see her, she's mine after all."

"Not when she's being held for trial." He frowns, his hands skating down to rest at the hilt of his sword, eyeing his suspiciously, "you don't know anything about this whole mess, do you?"

Before she can answer a figure appears from behind them, one arm grasping around his waist, clasping his arms to his side while the other claps over his mouth with a cloth, muffling his shouts until he has breathed in enough of the musky liquid soaking through the material to slump against Octavia, who lets him fall to his knees.

Bellamy steps into the light, frowning down at the man, "he was a good guy, you didn't have to do that."

"Yes I did," she doesn't spare him a glance back, can't take the time to look back at him and see the hard, cold judgement that is surely settling in his eyes, instead falling to her knees to unclip the keys from his belt, jamming one after the other into the lock until the door finally falls open.

She grabs the torch from the wall, holding it in front of her to illuminate the small cell. It is the same place that Anya was kept all those weeks ago, the same dark, cold stone, the same straw scattered across the floor, the same threatening skittering of rodent feet, but a different body chained up against the wall, head hanging low.

Bellamy takes the torch from her offering hand and she stumbles forward to reach out hands towards Lexa, slumping to the floor to hover uselessly just inches away from her skin. She is bruised and battered, her hair matted with blood from a scabbed over wound against her temple. There is a cut on her arm that is still oozing blood and she sports a particularly nasty bruise that is flowering against the skin around her right eye.

Watery green eyes ease up to look at her, widening in surprise and she breathes out her name, " _Lexa_."

Her hands fumble with the keys to unlock the chains binding her to the wall, fearful of jolting her.

"Clarke," her voice is raspy and harsh, but Clarke feels tears fill her eyes at the sound of it. "What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like?" Her own voice is rough with emotion, "busting you out, of course."

"This is dangerous," Lexa argues, but as the chains come free she grunts with relief, rolling her shoulders and pulling her arms around to rotate her wrists and stretch out her elbows, flinching slightly.

"Stop lecturing," she slides a hand under the girl's arms, encouraging her to lean on her as she hauls her to her feet. "We have to go."

Lexa takes a staggering step forward, her jaw tight with unspoken pain and Clarke tries to take as much of her weight as she can as they limp from the cell, past the unconscious body of the guard to where Octavia waits with the dark horse that Bellamy had stolen from the guards earlier that night.

"Come on," with Octavia's help, she manages to get Lexa upright on the horse, though her head still lolls worryingly forward. She turns back to her friends, smiling weakly when Octavia pulls her into a quick hug, arms squeezing her tightly before darting away. She can still barely meet their eyes, but she forces herself to when she speaks. "Thank you, both of you."

"Come back safely," Bellamy tells her, quietly and she swallows, glancing back to Lexa on the horse.

"May we meet again," she says at last and they both nod, watching as she swings herself up behind Lexa and jolts the horse into action below them. It's only when she's far enough away that they are only figures in the firelight that she dares to look back.

\----

She wakes surrounded by warmth. There is a heavy, hot weight strewn across her, one she recognises instantly and she turns, eyes still shut, to bury her face into the bundle of hair beside her, inhaling deeply. A small smile twists at her lips when she smells berries and sweet mead and the body beside her shifts, a soft grumble escaping Clarke's lips before she settles again.

Slowly, Lexa peels her eyes open and stares at the cave roof, tracking the rises and falls of the rock in the flickering, dancing shadows of the candlelight. A small fire burns, low embers the only thing that remains and the few candles they have are perched in crevices in the walls. Slowly, she inches herself up in the pile of furs, letting Clarke pull her arm closer to herself. She watches, eyes soft as the girl rubs her cheek against the furs below her, golden hair glowing in the dim light. Her eyelashes are as delicate and dainty as butterflies wings against her cheeks and a slight flush paints her skin from the heat of their small cocoon. Fingers twitch and Lexa watches, fascinated, as her face scrunches up in her sleep, like a child, before smoothing out into calm, like the still water of a pond after the ripples of a stray stone.

She pushes herself onto her feet, swallowing against the pain that shoots through her battered body, and steps from their furs. In the corner sits the pile of packs that she recognises from their long, arduous journey on horseback and she reaches for the water pouch beside them, taking a few long gulps until the pouch is drained and her tongue no longer feels heavy in her mouth. Bandages are wrapped over the gash in her arm and she lifts her hand to find her hair still damp as she remembers leaning back against Clarke, the sound of her gentle voice as soothing fingers ran through her hair to rid it of dirt and blood. Outside, impossibly, the night still reigns on. It seems as if days have passed and yet really it has been only hours. She can feel the exhaustion settling into her bones like a disease, eating her from the inside out and when her eyes settle on the packs again it only seems to weigh more heavily.

Hesitant hands reach for the packs, pulling them apart until she finds one of Clarke's sketchbooks and a rod of charcoal. With her free hand she fetches a candle and begins the treacherous but worn journey down the mountainside. Hlin sits in the clearing and upon hearing her arrival, raises her head to watch her approach. Holding out a hand to the dragon, she waits as Hlin nudges at her affectionately with her snout, before speaking quietly.

"Come on."

The dragon follows as she moves to sit at the water's edge. The moon is high in the sky and bright enough to see by, but she keeps the candle burning regardless, avoiding her reflection's eyes in the water. Her hands fold lovingly over the tanned skin that covers Clarke's sketchbook, opening it with reverence to touch at the corners of the pages. The pictures are soft, smudged lines and wandering shadows made by expert hands. The first pages are filled with landscapes; the village, the sea, the mountains, and a few people Lexa recognises like her mother or the Blake siblings. But towards the end, secreted away in the final pages, sit pictures of Hlin craning her neck to catch the fish tossed her way and pictures of Lexa, sharpening her sword or fishing or simply sat close, looking down at the artist with an affection that feels at once alien and familiar.

It is as close to Clarke's life as she will ever be able to understand, the careful balance between Lexa and her bond with Hlin; and her family, friends and loyalties to her people.

Hlin makes a soft sound, as if to remind Lexa of her presence and she reaches out to touch the dragon, fingers curling over her scales as she brushes her fingers over the dark lines that portray her. They feel false beneath her fingers, each one a betrayal and deception that she doesn't know how to undo and it's only when water drips onto the page and her fingers smudge at the lines, sending them sprawling in confusion across the paper, that she realises she is crying.

She's been fooling herself. Creating a false life here, with Clarke and Hlin and forgetting who she really is so slowly that she hasn't even felt the things that make her the person she is slipping out of her grasp and onto the wind, to be scattered across the sea like ashes until they wash up on the shore of her homeland, nothing but a bitter memory of what once was. She is not a man of this earth, she cannot walk the land as others do. She is bound with a bigger purpose, has been since the days she first blinked open her eyes to see the sun smiling at her. It sits around her neck like an albatross, both lifting her into the air and weighing her so heavily that she cannot lift her head to see the stars. It is carved into her skin, written into the arches and curves that cover her back and within the stark, dark ink there is no place for her to hide herself. She is not Lexa and she is not Heda, the two are inextricably linked, woven together like a tapestry, unable to exist apart; and yet here she has allowed herself to be nothing, a ghost of herself, feigning behind her name to create a self of grey and white when really she is the green of the forest, the red of the flames and the black of ashes.

Her eyes wander to the sky, settling on where the moon stares back and she prays, harder than she is ever has before. She searches for guidance from the Mother; from the gods; from her past lives, the dragon riders who span like shadows infinitely behind and ahead of her, binding her into their chain.

Nothing comes. There is no flame, no flicker of hope deep inside of her, no miraculous entity to guide her way and she feels abruptly so alone and young that it almost brings her to her knees. When the gods abandon her she must look to what she knows is real, what she can feel and touch and see. Clarke, in the cave, sleeping peacefully; the touch of her lips, her fingers so gentle and tender, her whispered words against Lexa's skin when she thinks she is sleeping- _I love you_.

And yet-

Anya's hands, worn and rough and sturdy. Gustus's laugh, the booming sound like an oak tree creaking in the wind. Eva's breathy voice declaring her faith- _Heda_.

Her eyes squeeze shut and she fights for a moment to breathe, struggling against the wave of despair crushing through her body. She is more than the spectre of a girl she is pretending to be. The gods work through her, her people look to her for safety and she has failed them.

Until now.

With shaking hands she tears a page from Clarke's book and scrawls a note, beckoning Hlin close as she tears a strip of cloth from her worn tunic to tie it as tightly as she can around the dragon's leg, leaving enough room only to slide the note inside. The beast is still burdened by chains, but she will fly well enough on her own and Lexa pulls her closer, drawing every last shred of faith she has to press their foreheads together and murmur instructions in her native tongue.

Slowly, she pulls back and the dragon blinks at her for a moment, before her pupils dilate slightly and she bows her head, raising her wings to pull herself into the air and disappear past the trees like a shot of blue lightning, Lexa left to watch her go with a sinking heart.

"Lexa?" She turns so suddenly that she almost falls from her perch on the rock, standing to approach her as Clarke fumbles her way down the rock face and into the clearing.

"What are you doing awake?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Clarke smiles, eyeing the sketch book in her arms curiously. "Everything alright?"

"Of course," she ushers her away from the water, leading her with a nudge back up towards the cave. "I just needed some air."

Clarke casts a glance back at her, clearly sceptical, but says nothing else as they make their way into the cave. She gestures to the furs and Lexa seats herself obediently, watching as the girl collects bandages and a small, ceramic pot of balm from the packs, eyes caught by the lines of her body, the easy, graceful movement until suddenly Clarke is beside her again, sitting heavily onto the furs to grimace a little as she speaks.

"I'm going to need to check over your injuries."

She nods easily and Clarke repositions herself close by so that she can unwrap the bandage from around her arm, her free hand going to flick open the girl's sketch book as she waits. Clarke's fingers work busily at her arm, cleaning off the tender flesh, but she pauses to peer over Lexa's shoulder at her own artwork, the embarrassment clear in her voice when she asks.

"What are you doing with that?"

"I like it," she confesses, truthfully. "You are an excellent artist."

"They're just doodles," Clarke's cheeks are glowing with heat, two pink spots appearing on them as she busies herself again. "I don't know why you bother with them."

"They allow me to know you."

Clarke looks up at that, brows creasing in concern. "Do you not know me already?"

She considers her words for a moment, eyes fixed to the shadows and curves that create the view of the ocean from the shore. When she speaks she is so quiet that Clarke shifts forward to hear her more clearly. "Sometimes I fear we never really know anyone."

Clarke is quiet, focussed on her work and it is only when she draws her hands away, pinning the new bandage in place, that she says, quietly. "I'm scared you're right. I'm scared we don't even know ourselves." Lexa eyes struggle to meet hers, searching them out, but Clarke stares resolutely at her hands clasped in her lap and her voice is hoarse when she continues, "I... need to tell you something."

"Anything," she vows, softly and Clarke attempts a weak smile in response.

"I did something... awful." Her fingers clench so tightly around themselves that her knuckles turn white and Lexa reaches out without thinking to place her own hands over them, thumbs rubbing soothing circles until Clarke's grip loosens. "To get you out we had to create a distraction and-" she breaks off, her voice stuttering, "and we talked to Anya and she suggested... setting the village alight."

Clarke is hunched, her shoulders curled and tense, almost as if anticipating a blow and Lexa is excruciatingly careful when she extracts a hand from Clarke's grip to touch gently at her shoulder, the pads of her fingers following the curve of the joint, feeling the harsh rise of tendons beneath her.

"I could have hurt so many people and I just- I didn't know I was... _capable_ -" her voice breaks again and she moves more quickly, pulling the blonde into her arms, curling around her like a comma. Her fingers run through tangled hair and her lips press gentle kisses to her forehead and nose, her tongue salty with the taste of Clarke's tears and it is only when her shoulder stop shaking, her breathing steadying out, that Lexa speaks.

"We are not the choices that we make Clarke. People make mistakes and misjudgements, people can be bound by love or fear or duty." She kisses her cheek, coaxing her eyes up to look at her. "You are not a bad person, Clarke Griffin, you would never intentionally hurt someone. Don't fear some fantastical monster that you imagine lives inside of you. You are a _dragon rider_ . You tame the wildest force of nature on this earth. You are _brave_." She waits, pausing to watch Clarke drag her eyes back up from where they have wandered back to her hands. "And it takes bravery to acknowledge that sometimes hard choices must be made."

"You don't think I'm a monster?" Clarke swallows, "I couldn't even- _look_ at Bell and Octavia. I couldn't look at the flames."

"You are not a monster, how could you be?" She almost smiles, her knuckles brushing the last of her tears away from Clarke's cheeks. "You are far too good."

Clarke's eyelashes flutter, heavy, long blinks that push a few more tears cascading down her cheeks as she stares up at Lexa for a moment before suddenly pushing herself up to press their lips together, the kiss hasty and harried. Lexa's mouth opens silently in shock and Clarke pushes her backwards with a hand at her shoulder, swinging one leg over her and returning to her mouth to kiss her, swallowing Lexa's moan when her hips roll a little. It tastes of desperation and fear and Lexa hesitates for a moment before pushing gently at her shoulders, urging Clarke away until the girl pulls back, sitting up.

"Clarke, what are you doing?" She stays as she is, pressed back into the furs in an attempt to distance herself, but her fingers betray her, slipping up the blonde's thigh to rest at the curve of her hip.

"I almost lost you." The frantic edge is gone from Clarke's voice and she is calmer, reaching up to rub at the few remaining tears that linger on her cheeks. "And all I could think was that we were never really... together. We were always looking over our shoulders waiting to be caught, _worrying_. Now we're finally free to be together and... I don't want to wait."

"Are you sure?" Wandering fingers brush a few strands of light hair from her face, knuckles settling against the curve of her jaw. "Don't feel like you have to rush Clarke-"

Soft lips against hers cut her off and when she opens her eyes Clarke is close, hovering above her. Blue eyes are wrapped in uncertainty as she speaks, "I'm sure... as long as this is what you want?"

She swallows, caught by glistening opal eyes and full pink lips and she thinks of the dragon flying across the seas on her orders, the fires burning in the village, the warriors who will soon be arming themselves for battle and all she wants is to pretend for a moment, to hold Clarke so close that she blocks out the rest of the world. The words are heavy on her tongue, tight in her throat, so instead of speaking she drags Clarke closer again, pressing their lips together and bracing her feet to roll them over in the furs.

Clarke's eyes twinkle with mirth and Lexa runs a thumb over slightly swollen lips, smiling just slightly before bending to scatter gentle kisses down across her jaw and towards her neck, worshipping every inch of skin she can find until impatient hands in her hair draw her back upwards again. As their lips move together she feels hands running over her thighs, fingers dancing daringly beneath her tunic and across her bare skin and a shiver runs through her. Clarke pulls herself away to giggle quietly at Lexa's reaction and she rolls her eyes, leaning forward to nip at her lower lip in reprimand. The insistent fingers push the tunic up until it brushes the bottom of the wrap around her breasts and Clarke hesitates, opening her eyes to look at her.

Lexa doesn't speak, instead she sits up and brings her hands up until they are intertwined with Clarke's, guiding her hands up to pull the tunic over her head. Her skin prickles in the cool air and Clarke rolls them gently over again, taking her chance to kiss and lick and bite her way down the line of her chest plate, between her collar bones until she reaches her wraps, the pads of her fingers playing at the edges of them. Lexa slides up a little before she can do anything more, sitting up until she has Clarke held in her lap and she can rid her of first her jacket and then the shirt underneath. They divest each other of their wraps together and she shivers when she feels Clarke's thumb run hesitantly over her nipple, feeling the bud tighten and harden beneath her soft touch.

Her head falls forward to run kisses over the crease in her neck, delighting in the way that Clarke whimpers and arches into her when she reaches a particularly sensitive patch of skin over her shoulder and she dedicates some time to kissing and sucking as Clarke's hands run up and down her slim sides. Fingers in her hair tug her back up towards the girl's lips, kissing her for a few long moments before pulling away to press their foreheads together, caught like a butterfly in a net in Clarke's eyes.

" _Ai hod yu in_ , Clarke Griffin."

Though the words are foreign to her, the inflection is universal and Clarke's eyes fill with soft affection, reaching up to cup her face in both hands and bring her lips close enough that Lexa can feel them against her own when she whispers.

"I love you too."

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, don't they seem happy? Wouldn't it be wonderful if everything just... stayed this way?
> 
> Let me know what you thought down below or come bug me for spoilers or meta or whatever the heck else you want on my tumblr (@onemilliongoldstars)!


	12. heda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> right! we're back! This chapter is heavy in both action and angst which is one of the reasons I didn't upload it sooner. I figured after 3x07 we all needed a break, I was personally barely functioning after the episode. There's nothing else that can be said about 3x07 anymore that hasn't already been eloquently put in other parts of the internet but I encourage you all to go to lgbtfansdeservebetter.com and donate to the Trevor Project campaign they have linked. For too long we've sat quietly as these atrocities have occurred, it's time to start taking action. I find that @clexasource on twitter is an excellent source of up to date information. This weekend is Wondercon, let's all watch JRat squirm.

  1. _heda_



When Clarke jars awake the sun is high in the sky, streaming bright light through the mouth of the cave. She is tucked into their furs, comfortable and warm and beside her head, on the uneven, sandy floor of the cave, is a scrap of cloth with bread, cheese and fish laid out across it and a piece of parchment torn from her book, dark handwriting scrawled upon it. Next to her the furs are empty and cold and she frowns, brows creasing as she heaves herself up and shivers when the cool air shifts across her naked chest.

There is no sign of Lexa in the cave and she rolls onto her stomach, grasping fingers reaching for the parchment as she levers herself up onto her elbows so that the furs hang around her shoulders, keeping her warm.  _ Make sure you eat something -L  _  is written on the thin sheet of paper and she smiles despite herself, grunting quietly as she heaves herself from the warm cocoon of furs and stands, stretching out her muscles, still stiff and sore from the night before. She feels well rested, hazy in the sort of way that suggests that she has slept for a long time and she grabs at her tunic, pulling it over her head to cover the trail of gentle pink raspberries Lexa had left down her body.

Outside the blue sky is marred by threatening dark clouds and she sighs at the sight, taking care to shrug her jacket on after her deerskin pants. Bending, she collects the dagger she had found attached to the horse's saddle and pushes it into her belt before scooping up the bundle of food inside the cloth and making her way out towards the cave's mouth, calling before she reaches it.

"Lexa, you'd better have eaten a good breakfast too if you're going to..." She trails off, voice dissolving into nothing when she sees the empty clearing that faces her. Turning, she peers at the treeline and up into the sky, trying to ignore the stirrings of panic in the pit of her stomach. "Hlin? Lexa?"

There is nothing but the sound of her own voice, echoing back to her from the thick walls of the cave and she swallows heavily, turning back to scan their temporary refuge for any clue as to where Lexa could have gone. Her sword, she realises with a jolt, is missing, as are Lexa’s clothes and a water skin. She thinks back to the fierce fire in Anya’s eyes, the trepidation and fury on the faces of the emerging Trigedakru in the surf hall and her stomach somersaults.

The food is left scattered on the floor as she takes off at a run out of the cave mouth, feet scrambling against the rocky surface of the cliff face before the soles of her boots hit the soft grass and she battles her way through the thick shrubbery of the forest. The trees pass in a blur, her heart thumping in her chest to a regular beat of  _ Lexa Lexa Lexa  _ and her blood is rushing through her ears, creating a static like roar of panic and dread. Every time she blinks she sees the same image behind her eyes, Lexa caught in the arms of guards, Jaha leering over her with an axe raised to her bare neck and she doesn’t even realise she’s crying until her eyes begin to sting.

Emerging from the treeline is like throwing her head up above the water’s surface. She staggers to a halt for a second and heaves in a few big breaths, her lungs screaming in protest as wide eyes stare out at where the village lies.

The first thing she sees is smoke. Heavy and thick and black, rising from the thatch of huts and houses that make up the centre of the village. Her heart aches with guilt, hard and heavy like an iron ball.

The next thing she sees are the people. Figures staggering away from the village and out into the open land, the healthy and strong supporting the weak. There are people crying, screaming and yelling and she finds her feet pushing her forward before she can even think, past the fields of burning crops and the people who watch her go with wide eyes until a hand grabs her arm, spinning her around and to a halt.

A farmer, old as the mountain, gnarled fingers pulling her back, entreating. “Run!”

“What’s happening?” She yanks at the fingers that grasp her, tugging, “Please, what’s going on!”

“The slaves are rebelling! The dragons are coming!”

He tries to pull her along with him but she rips herself from his grip, turning on her heel to rush into the village.

The smoke is heavier and thicker here, pricking at her eyes and settling in her lungs and she struggles to push through the crowds of people hurrying to escape the mayhem, shouldering her way past them. It is chaotic, the clash of metal against metal ringing throughout and the roar of battle consuming them like a furious hurricane. It’s overwhelming and she ducks her head, covering her mouth and nose with her hand as she hurries through the crumbling, smoking buildings. She isn’t sure what she’s looking for, but when she rounds a corner and sees Anya swinging a huge piece of lumber at a guard lunging at her with a sword, she jumps forward.

The wood hits the man’s head, sending him reeling and falling to the floor, his eyes shut, but when Anya raises her arm to strike the final, fatal blow, she grabs at the wood, yanking it out of the woman’s hands. Anya turns, snarling in rage and Clarke darts in to grab at her arms, holding her tightly.

“Anya!” The woman twists, struggling to get away from her grip and Clarke shoves her backwards until she can hold her against the wall of the house behind them. “Stop! What’s going on?”

“We are finally getting our freedom.” Anya wrenches herself free, shoving Clarke back enough that she can step away from the wall. It is only then that Clarke realises she has dirt streaked down her face, smeared over her eyes like war paint.

“Where is Lexa? Anya!” She yanks at Anya’s arm when she tries to move away, “Tell me where Lexa is!”

“I don’t know where she is.” Anya spins, taking a few steps in her direction and propelling her away so rapidly that Clarke stumbles over her own feet and is sent sprawling into the mud. Anya lingers, standing over her like a foreboding shadow, blocking out what little sun streams down through the thick smoke and cloud. “You have been a loyal ally, Clarke. Stay out of our way and you will not lose your life.”

With that she turns and disappears into the smoke, like a spectre and she is left, heaving for breath in the mud. Pounding feet round the corner and she turns to peer over her shoulder urgently, squinting against the dirt obscuring her vision.

“Bellamy!”

The boy falls to his knees beside her, uncertain hands touching nervously at her shoulders and head. “Clarke! Are you hurt?”

“No, no I’m fine,” She takes the hand he offers, letting him haul her from the ground and brushing at the mud that coats her skin. “Are you alright?”

“Fine, I’m fine,” he shrugs off her concern easily, turning as a third figure joins them and Clarke almost sobs in relief.

“Octavia! Thank god.” She pulls the girl in close for a moment, clinging to her as if convincing herself that she is alive and well before stepping away. “Where’s everyone else?”

“We haven’t seen them,” Bellamy pushes at his hair, yanking it back from his head as behind them a colossal roar rips through the air, a screaming shriek that makes her blood run cold.

“They’re here.” Octavia breathes, knuckles white with her grip on her sword.

“Who?” Clarke follows them as they hurry back around the corner they came from, pausing in the dim alleyway to peer out at the market square. “What is this?”

“The slaves have signalled for back up, their warriors at home.”

“And their dragons.” Octavia adds, eyes glued to the sky and Clarke follows her gaze, breath catching in her throat when she sees the figures emerging from the air.

They slip like shadows from the smoke, dark phantoms becoming solid and real and bright. Dragons of every colour descend, baring their teeth, jaws opening wide in horrendous screams of warning. They are horned and armoured, their scales thick and rippling, the backs of their throats glowing with ominous heat and upon their backs sit riders, masked and dressed in dark, worn clothing. They slide from the creatures’ backs elegantly, as if they have done it all their lives and rip swords and maces and axes from their backs and hips, the metal glinting in the fire light. Around them Clarke sees her people falter, watches as they stagger away before a beast the colour of fire, scales rippling an angry red and glowing orange, opens its mouth and releases and blast of fire.

Bellamy yanks them back just in time and they huddle together, trembling as the heat rushes past the mouth of the alleyway. There is screaming, fearful and agonising and it is only when it dies away that they slowly creep away from each other, sticking low to the ground to stare out at the scorched, smoking earth. There are bodies strewn across the ground, blackened and crisp, those who didn’t move fast enough and Clarke can feel the bile rising in her throat, her head spinning as the smell of burning flesh permeates the air.

The figure standing behind the red dragon pulls off her mask, revealing cropped hair and dark skin, darker eyes turning back to look expectantly through the smoke where another figure emerges.

She is foreign to Clarke and yet still so familiar; long, dark hair is now braided intricately back from her face, intertwined with golden thread and her pale skin is marred with dark kohl streaks down her cheeks. She is dressed in fine, blackened armour and a red sash rips across one shoulder, like a flame cutting through a dark night. A golden cog sits in between her eyebrows, above her slender nose and pursed, considering lips. The heavy sword that swings from her belt and the two throwing daggers slipped into shields against her thighs glint, flashing in the flames. She carries herself with a confidence befitting only a leader and as she steps out into the clearing there is no doubting who she is.

“Is that…” Octavia murmurs behind her.

“The Heda.” Clarke finishes, numbly. “Their commander.”

Lexa stares down at the carnage, light, stony eyes surveying the damage and she nods once, holding up a hand to beckon the other woman forwards. She speaks a few quick words to her and the warrior nods, turning back to her dragon to stride away in the cloud and smoke, barking short, clipped orders in Lexa's strange language. Clarke spots suddenly in the shadows the figures, tall and hulking and loaded with deadly weapons, forming a silent wall as they watch their commander walk a few steps forward. The ash flies into the air with each step of her boot, muffling the sound as she paces forward alone, ignoring the small fires that still flicker in between the rubble. She drops to one knee before a corpse and Clarke feels bile rise further in her throat when she sees the charred remains of the man twitch. Lexa drags a dagger from her thigh and presses a hand to his head, murmuring something too quietly for them to hear before pressing the blade through his skin carefully until his body goes slack.

She feels as if every muscle in her body is freezing, her joints stiff and screaming for relief but she cannot move, doesn't dare to even breathe as she watches Lexa stand slowly, raise her head up to the sky and close her eyes, exposing the long line of her neck.

Her stomach rolls when she spots the dark marks she had made against that skin only hours before.

There's a cry from somewhere, a scream and then the unmistakable flapping of wings and her mouth falls open when a huge, dark shape emerges from the clouds to land steadily beside Lexa, claws as long and sharp as swords scraping at the ground, sending a cloud of ashes into the air. Tyr is almost twice as big as Hlin, dark, golden eyes gleaming out at them, his scales as dark as night but the skin under his wings tinged with red, the same colour that fades at his claws, snout and the edges of his horns and the spikes that run down his back. He lets out a keening sound and when Lexa turns to him there is such joy in her eyes that Clarke has to swallow again.

Lexa holds out her hands, breaching the space between them in a few quick steps and the dragon takes a heavy pace forwards, bending and stretching his neck. Lexa runs her hands over his head, speaking words too soft for Clarke to hear them, crooning and Tyr lets out a rumble that shudders through the air, ducking into her touch, content for a few moments.

"Heda." The dark skinned woman steps forward again, pausing close by to wait respectfully.

Lexa turns to look at her, one hand still resting on Tyr's snout, "Indra, what news?"

"Anya is nowhere to be found," Indra stands straight and tall, shoulders stiff with tension and her dark eyes are narrowed, darting occasionally out to survey their surroundings. "But everyone else is assembled."

Lexa nods curtly, still absently running her fingers over dark scales. "Keep a scout out looking for Anya, her place now is at my side." At Indra's nods she steps away and faces the waiting lines of warriors. Tyr follows close at her heels, puffing warning breaths of hot air out of his nose.  "My people," Her voice rises, calling out to echo down the ranks of her soldiers. "Too long we have waited in the shadows, allowing our friends and families to be treated like dirt. These Sky People show no respect for human life and so we shall give them what they deserve. Kill anyone who crosses your path.  _ Jus drein, jus daun _ ." A cry goes up from those gathered and behind Lexa, Tyr roars his agreement, flames spitting from his mouth and into the air to illuminate the size of the crowd and Clarke can't contain her gasp when she sees hundreds upon hundreds of waiting warriors.

" _ Holy shit _ ," Bellamy hisses out the words and then fingers are grabbing at her arm and hauling her away. She doesn't struggle, can't dredge up the energy to, instead her limp body is tugged back down the alley, until Bellamy has led them both around a corner and shoves her none too gently back against the wall of a hut, the impact pushing a soft grunt out of her.

"What the hell is that?" Octavia is still peering around the side of the alleyway, as if she can see through the smoke and the rubble to where their enemies stand and Bellamy strides over to yank at her shoulder, jerking her away.

"Octavia! Stay  _ away _ !"

Octavia shrugs away his grip, but doesn't protest and Bellamy rounds on Clarke angrily, eyes aflame with fury.

"Did you  _ know _ ?"

"Know?" She echoes weakly, staring at him, brows crumpling in confusion as she tries to comprehend his words and he slams his fist into the wall beside her head, making her startle away from him.

"About  _ Lexa _ , Clarke! Did you know who she was?"

" _ What _ ?" She can feel her anger bubbling in her stomach; it grinds its way up through her bones to settle and harden into bitter resentment close to her heart and she pushes at Bellamy's chest, sending him stumbling back a few paces. "Of course not! Are you crazy?"

"I don't  _ know _ ," He recovers quickly, rounding on her, "Am I Clarke? Because I let you bring her into my home, I let you tell her things nobody is meant to know, does that make me crazy?"

"Don't be ridiculous, she wouldn't use what she knows." Despite her words however her voice falters, eyes flickering guiltily back to the alley and Bellamy releases a breath of furious air, shaking his head in disbelief.

"How could you  _ do this _ to us?"

"Okay," Octavia steps in quickly, hands raised as if to push them apart though they aren't fighting. "Stop. Bellamy," She turns to glower at her brother, "Clarke didn't know any of this, don't be a moron. And Clarke," Her eyes swivel to the blonde and they soften a little, hand raising to rest on her shoulder. "I know this is hard but... you can't trust Lexa. She lied to us all, she could easily use anything we told her. The important thing now is to make sure that the village is safe."

"This village," Clarke repeats slowly, the colour rushing from her cheeks, stomach rolling with fear as realisation slowly dawns. "My mother, where is she?"

"I... I don't know," Octavia admits at last and her eyes dart back to Bellamy, who shakes his head, mouth set in a grim line. "I haven't seen her."

"I have to find her."

"Clarke, no!" Bellamy hooks his arm around hers, bringing her stumbling back when she tries to rush past them, but when she wrenches herself away, opening her mouth to scream at him, he hurriedly adds. "Your dragon, where is it?"

She falters for a moment, swallowing heavily as she thinks before shaking her head. When she speaks her voice is strangled. "I don't know, I didn't see her this morning."

"Can't you see her?" Octavia demands, "Or like, sense her or whatever?"

"I... can try." A feeling of dread is building up in her stomach, but she closes her eyes regardless, centring herself and pulling her focus as she reaches out for Hlin, stretching further than she ever has before. She is left with nothing, emptiness sitting like iron between her ribs, a piercing pain that leaves her gasping when she finally opens her eyes, "She's gone."

"What? What do you mean?" Octavia's brows are furrowed but Clarke can barely look at her, eyes filling with terrified tears as she takes a trembling step away from them.

"I can't... she's not  _ here _ ."

"Clarke, wait, please talk to us." Bellamy reaches out for her but she tears herself out of his reach, shaking her head which feels fuzzy and dense, blurry vision fixing on them both.

"I can't. I have to find Hlin... I have to find my  _ mother _ ."

Without sparing them another word she turns on her heel, racing away down the backstreet.

Somewhere a few streets away, she can hear the harsh cries of Lexa's people, and the sound sends a shiver running through her, goosebumps rippling down her arms and the hair on the back of her neck standing to attention. She rounds a corner and barrels straight into two warring figures, a young woman dressed in the furs and hides of Lexa's clan and one of her own people, a boy no older than fourteen in plain cotton.

The woman snarls beneath the twisted mask that hides the top half of her face and swings her blade around forcing Clarke back and away from her so that she can spin and rain a heavy blow down on the boy. He cries out and falls away and Clarke's eyes dart about frantically, finally falling on the rubble of the half destroyed hut beside them. Her fingers curl around a protruding iron bar and she yanks at it with all her strength, pulling it free from the rest of the debris to strike it with a sickening crack into the side of the girl's head.

She drops like a stone and Clarke can already see the blood pooling in her dark hair, matting the wet strands together. The boy backs away, scrambling up and racing over the rubble away from them and she swallows hard against the bile rising in her throat, eyes caught by the sight of the dead girl at her feet.

Reluctant feet are finally forced onwards by the sound of screaming and the dark shadows that pass overhead. Her eyes flicker up and dread curdles in her stomach when she sees the flock of dragons, above her.

Her fingers tighten around the iron bar and feet slip in the slick mud below her. She hurries past ghostly figures; people she knows trying to escape the carnage, warriors caught up in raging battles, bodies littering the ground, staining her shoes red with their blood and her heart pounds in her chest, tears stinging at her eyes.

On staggering legs she emerges into the clearing that was one the water square, though the well is now only piles of broken stone and dirt, the wooden winch long gone. The sudden daylight is startling after what feels like an age of pushing her way through the darkened back alleys of the village, and for a moment it is all she can do to squint through the brightness. There are people fighting, a mess of figures sending blows either way and for a moment she is lost, unable to place anyone until an ever familiar face falls with a shout to the ground at her feet.

Chancellor Jaha's mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, his skin covered with a sheen of sweat and she drops to her knees, hands reaching out to touch at his face, cupping his cheeks as her breath catches in her throat.

"Chancellor! Chancellor!"

He grasps for her, his hands tangling in her clothes to tug and pull at her, heavy, laboured breathing rusting from his throat.

"Please, stay with me," She tries to haul him up, clear his airways a little, but his body is a deadweight beneath her and she slips in her mud, her feet losing traction and sending her sprawling to the floor, his body crashing to the ground beside her.

He lets out another choking groan and then there is abruptly nothing, his mouth hanging open and his chest frighteningly still.

"No!" She crawls to him across the mud, and though she knows that he is gone her hands reach out to touch his cold skin, tears falling down her face as a voice cuts through her grief from above her.

"You should not mourn such a hateful creature, sky girl."

She spins around, fire coursing through her veins to see Anya above her, blood dancing in the shadows of her face and dripping from her blade, lips set in a grim line and her fingers curl around her iron bar as she lurches unsteadily to her feet.

Anya raises an eyebrow, shifting back slightly as her sword is hoisted into the air again, red rivulets running down the blade and over her fingers. "Are you going to fight me, sky girl?" She is gently taunting, a hint of bitterness slipping through her eyes. "Our commander would not like that."

"She isn't  _ my _ commander." Clarke hisses in return, "You've made your point, now  _ go _ ."

"Leave?" Anya echoes, incredulously. "Why would we do that? There are still some of you standing." She brings her sword up easily to block the blow that Clarke sends her way, dancing back with her sword just as Lexa used to do. The memory brings fresh hatred to the surface and she lets out an inhuman screech as she brings down her iron bar again, only to be thrown off once more by Anya's blade.

"You have destroyed us, your people are free to go, leave us  _ be _ !"

She flings another blow in Anya's direction, raining down her weapon at the woman until, with an expert flick of her wrist, Anya sends the bar flying away into the dirt, slashing her weapon close enough to Clarke's stomach that she is forced to stumble away, falling with a thump to the floor. Her eyes dart up and she hastens to scurry away, clawing at the dirt as Anya paces quickly towards her.

The woman lands heavily on her chest, pinning her down with her knee and running her fingers over the dagger strapped to her thigh, brows creased together.

"You are lucky that you have curried such favour with us, but do not test me."

"I won't stop trying to defend my people," She replies breathlessly, and her fingers scrape at the mud before suddenly swinging up her fist to slam it hard into Anya's face, sending the woman sprawling backwards, gasping in surprise.

It takes only a moment for Anya to regain her wits, but in that time Clarke has stumbled up and on top of her, raising her fist to hit at her cheeks and heavy fingers grasp at her waist, pushing at her uselessly.

"Clarke!"

The shout makes her head jerk around, frantic eyes turning to search through the crowd and she watches as her mother raises her sword to block an attack from the man fighting her.

"Mother!" She tries to tear herself away from Anya, but the woman grabs hold of her ankle and brings her down with a grunt and they are suddenly grappling on the ground again, pushing and pulling at one another until Anya emerges on top of her.

"Give up, sky girl." Her words are nothing more than a growl, fingers pressing against Clarke's throat and the blonde gasps, breath scraping into her throat. Her hands stretch out uselessly on the ground, searching until suddenly she feels her faithful companion. The rusted metal of the bar scratches against her hands and she brings it up with a resounding crack against the side of the woman's head.

Anya falls away, eyes slamming shut as her limp body crashes against the mud and she hauls herself closer, hands pressing against her adversary's cheeks and chest to be sure that she is still breathing.

A cry, high and shrill, is all that alerts her to the oncoming danger.

A dragon rider, built like a mountain, descends on her, his axe raised high and she can only flinch back, sliding herself off Anya's body and through the mud, eyes cringing shut as her shoulders hunch.

The expected blow never comes.

Only a small, warm body crashing down onto her and she peels open her eyes to stare down into her lap.

Fern. The little girl, no more than eight summers, has appeared from nowhere and thrown herself between Clarke and the towering monster. Her little body now lies in Clarke's lap and the blonde feels her heart constrict at the sight of the blood pooling from the gash that almost seems to cut her in half. The tiny frame trembles, Fern's eyes flickering as she hauls in breaths and everything seems momentarily quiet as Clarke curls herself around the girl who she has known since she was almost a babe, her own breath stuttering, throat constricting.

" _ Fern _ ," It comes out as a broken sob, her pain cutting through the word and frantic hands press at the girl, fluttering hopelessly around her body as if she is able to piece her back together through pure faith. "No, no,  _ why _ ? Why would you  _ do that _ ?"

The little girl wretches through a breath, heaving a pained cough and Clarke's eyes blur when she sees the blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, making her words bleary and slurred when she speaks. "You're one of the good ones."

She shudders in a breath again, but then she is unthinkably still in Clarke's arms and she feels her body shudder, curling around the dead girl to cradle her close, feel the hot, wet press of her blood against Clarke's skin. Howling, wretched sobs are ripped from her chest and when she peers through soaked eyes, she can see Anya staring at her from her place on the ground, face twisted at the sight of Clarke's agony.

"Is this what you  _ want _ ?!" The words are hurled from her, choked and broken by her tears. " _ Children are dying _ ."

Anya is silent, expression creasing more deeply and the scream of her name draws her eyes away from the woman to see Abby, staring at her, aghast.

"Mother!" She tries to shift Fern's body away from her, moving it gently to the ground, but the moment she pulls herself to her feet and sees the extent of the carnage around them, the fighting figures covered in blood and dirt and suddenly rough hands are grabbing her, yanking her away from the battle.

" _ Clarke _ !" Abby takes one faltering step forward and she tries to reach for her mother, before the woman's face suddenly contorts, twisting with pain and when she falls forward a bloodcurdling scream escapes Clarke at the sight of the arrow sticking up from her mother's back.

The  _ Trigedakru  _ who hold her speak in a sharp, quick language amongst themselves and she is pulled a few stumbling steps backwards, unable to escape the burly man behind her, despite her struggles and squirming.

"Clarke!" Her eyes dart to the right and Octavia and Bellamy appear from the fighting, Kane quick on their heels. Lexa's people growl furiously, hauling her further back from the fighting as her people approach and Octavia grabs at Anya's arm, yanking her from the ground and spinning her into Bellamy's tight grasp, the woman far too weak to fight them.

"Take her!" She can hear Kane shouting, but a crowd of  _ Trigedakru _ are already surrounding her, yanking her further and further back into their ranks and a rough piece of burlap is shoved into her mouth, cutting her screams off so abruptly that she feels as if she may choke on them.

Coarse rope binds her hands tightly behind her back, the fibres scraping at her skin and tightened fingers grab at her chin, tilting her face upwards so that she is forced to stare into the eyes of the warrior Lexa had called Indra. The woman surveys her with pinched lips, before nodding once and shoving her back into the arms of her captor, who bellows out a terrifying war cry and suddenly she is being passed forward, shoved from one person to the next as she is poked and prodded forwards by the tips of blades and calloused hands.

When the hood is finally slammed over her head, she is almost grateful to be plunged into blissful darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me. The other shoe had to drop sometime. Thank you for reading! I'd love to read your comments both below and over on my tumblr (onemilliongoldstars).


	13. nothing more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always thank you for your wonderful comments! I know it's heavy going right now but... we had a fair amount of build up so. Also I'm sorry that this chapter is a little shorter than usual, the story just happened to fall that way!

  1. _nothing more_



She wakes slowly, as if each part of her is being submerged into a cool bath, her skin prickling as her body swings her into consciousness. It's disorientating, her eyes flicker open and she flinches back when she feels the brush of fabric against her eyelashes, shadowy darkness still washing over her. Her cheeks and neck feel hot and a strange, musky smell lingers in the fibres of the bag thrown over her head. Dry tongue scraping across the burlap still wrapped around her mouth, she shifts her shoulders, leaning back to feel the sturdy support of a pole behind her, wrists bound together so tightly that her fingers feel dull and cold. Goosebumps run up her bare arms and she wonders vaguely when she was stripped of her jacket.

There are voices as well, arguing, and she stills at the sound of them, freezing so as not to alert them of her sudden consciousness. The harsh, foreign language slices through the air for a few moments, voices loud and coarse, a ruckus of noise before two sharp claps sound from somewhere close to her left and she can't help but flinch away, startled, as the room quietens.

"Silence." The voice sends a shiver running down her spine, like the ghost of a finger being dragged against her sensitive skin and she closes her eyes despite the hood pulled over her head. Lexa sounds calm and controlled and yet still every other voice falls quiet, a respectful hush falling and Clarke waits, every muscle tense and twitching, breath caught in her throat. "We must speak in English, for our friends from the south." She sounds a little further away now and Clarke can imagine her pacing forwards, that strange, grand sash dragging along the ground behind her.

"Thank you,  _ Heda _ ." Another voice, accented and high, unfamiliar.

Lexa does not respond and after a beat of silence somebody speaks, as if prompted to do so.

" _ Heda _ , we hold the southern ground of the village. All areas near the coast are manned by our people, it is only the hilltop that the Sky People now control."

"They have holed themselves up in a longhouse, they will not last long under dragon fire," this voice she knows, Indra sounds almost amused by the idea of their defences and her stomach tightens at her words, breathing hitching quietly.

A murmur of agreement runs through the people gathered, but when Lexa speaks she is as hard as steel. "And burn our own, Indra?"

The room falls quiet again and Indra is silent for a moment before answering, haltingly, " _ Heda _ , we have the perfect opportunity. Though there would be a loss, the advantage we have-"

"The death of some of our people, including my second in command, the woman who is  _ responsible  _ for our freedom is not a sacrifice that I am willing to make." Lexa's voice wavers just slightly, the icy exterior breaking for a fleeting moment.

"Anya would surely want-" another voice begins to argue, but a harsh cracking sound echoes through the room and Clarke jolts away despite herself as a few people gasp.

" _ Do not _ speak of what Anya would want." Lexa sounds dangerously calm, "this is about what  _ I _ want, which is Anya and everyone else alive. We have lost enough lives to the Sky People."

"We have our own captive," someone hurries to add, clearly anxious and Clarke stiffens at the words, a shiver running through her as the room falls silent.

She can feel the weight of their stares pressing down on her and she flinches back into the pole automatically, pushing herself up against the rough wood and struggling a little in an attempt to shield herself. The enforced blindness of the hood makes her feel abruptly vulnerable, with no auditory cues from the quiet onlookers and she swallows heavily, clenching her fingers together behind her back as footsteps approach her.

"Indeed," Lexa is suddenly close enough that Clarke thinks she can feel her body heat and she shivers again, throat tightening anxiously. "One who has been listening to every word we have said."

"Kevan reported that she was the daughter of one of the leaders, he said he thought she was important."

"Important enough to keep everyone alive, though?"

Suddenly a hand is at her hood, pulling harshly and ripping at a few stray hairs, and she squeezes her eyes shut instinctively, flinching away from the sudden onslaught of light. Through her eyelashes she can see Lexa, eyes widened in surprise, the hood hanging in her hand like a slaughtered animal and she tries to stand taller, peel open her eyes fully and square her jaw when she sees the people gathered behind Lexa, looking at her curiously.

The Commander swallows heavily and a myriad of emotions flicker through her eyes before they settle into hard, steely neutrality. Her eyes follow the curve of Lexa's shoulders as they are pushed back and she can see the hint of a dark bruise- the result of passionate moment hidden between their furs, away from the world- painted onto the underside of Lexa's jaw. It's almost reassuring, as if without out she would wonder whether any of it had really passed, or whether it was all just a dream created by a mind addled with stress and fear.

Lexa turns away from her in a swirl of dark leathers and red silk and she longs to grab her by her sash and yank her backwards, to demand an explanation, to scream and shout until her throat feels as raw and cracked as her heart.

"Leave us." There is no argument in her voice, no room for debate between her close, sharp words and after a moment of hesitancy her council begin to do as she has asked, uncertain feet shuffling them out of the hut. A few faces turn back to peer between them, but none dare to speak up and as they file out Clarke takes a moment to look around herself.

She is tied securely to a supporting beam close to the far wall of a small hut. It looks much like many of the other homes in the village, made from stone cut from the mountain side, thick and dark; the floors are a patchwork of trodden mud and woven grass mats and pushed to the corner is a large oak table, several chairs scattered around it. Lanterns and candles are lit, making the room glow and watery amber, but the fireplace remains barren and dark as Lexa paces past it.

"You too, Indra."

The woman who captured her is lingering by the door and her eyes dart to Clarke, her muscles strained as she grinds her teeth, clearly working to keep herself in check. She says something quick and curt in Lexa's strange, foreign language and Lexa frowns, her gaze moving back to Clarke and settling on her for a second.

She hates the way that her skin prickles and darkens.

"Don't be ridiculous," Lexa says at last, her eyes still fixed to Clarke, "she can do me no harm."

Still Indra hovers in the doorway and Lexa turns back to her at last, expression furrowing into irritation and fingers flickering over the dagger strapped to her hip as she barks something Clarke cannot recognise in their own tongue and Indra bows her head, murmuring quietly before disappearing back through the door.

There is a moment of heavy, tense silence and Clarke's eyes stay fixed to Lexa's back, watching the other woman heave in a long, deep breath before finally turning. Her mask has fallen, slipped just slightly to reveal a slither of concern, like the first ray of the sunrise peeking over the hilltops, a dash of colour in her otherwise stony eyes.

"Clarke," she begins, stepping closer but Clarke flinches away from her advance and her outstretched hands and Lexa recoils as if she has been burnt, stilling a few steps away from her. Clarke's eyes narrow into a glare and Lexa swallows again, her voice shaking just slightly when she speaks again. "Are you harmed?"

Clarke says nothing, fingers tightening into fists in their confines and Lexa's eyes flicker over her body as if searching for any sign of injury.

"Allow me to untie you?" Though it is not phrased so, the slight lilt of her voice frames the word into a question, undermining them with uncertainty and Clarke presses her lips together around the burlap to withhold her ferocious snarl of rage as Lexa approaches carefully.

When gentle fingers, she pries apart the knot tightening the coarse gag in her mouth, pulling it warily away from her lips and casting it across the ground, far away from them both. Clarke's tongue flickers out over her dry, chapped lips and she rolls what little saliva she has around her dry mouth as the warms hands reappear at her wrists.

"Hold still," Lexa warns, quietly and moments later she feels the sharp blade of a dagger slice through the ropes and she staggers forward, prying herself away from the pole and surging across the floor to put as much distance between them as possible.

Clarke spins on her heel to watch suspiciously as Lexa sheathes her dagger, rolling her shoulders and rubbing at her chafed wrists as the woman moves towards the table to retrieve a goblet, pouring water from a copper jug into it and offering it to her. Clarke eyes it, gaze flickering between Lexa and the gift and Lexa shakes her head sadly.

"It is not poisoned," Clarke's mouth snaps open to retort, but before she can Lexa takes a swig of the liquid and steps closer.

Their fingers just barely brush when she reaches out for the goblet, but it still makes her shiver.

The water, irritatingly, is refreshing and cool, and she drains it quickly in an attempt to soothe her burning throat and dry mouth, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand when she pulls the empty goblet away.

"Thank you," the words leave her automatically, cracked and scraping their way out of her throat and she curses herself as Lexa takes the goblet and sets it aside, nodding.

"Of course." Lexa hesitates, staring at her for a moment and Clarke feels abruptly bear when faced with the woman in full regalia, dark paint smeared down her cheeks, blades stained with the blood of her enemies, Clarke's people.

"Are you hurt?" Lexa asks at last, after a moment and Clarke shakes her head in a halting, jerky motion, letting the silence once against settle between them, filling the void that separates them with unspoken words.

"How  _ could  _ you?" It falls from her mouth, a stumbling, croaking accusation and she sees Lexa's eyes fall closed for just a moment, flickering shut as grief washes over her.

When she opens them again, there is nothing but ice and steel.

"You mistake my actions, they were not personal." Her jaw tightens, spine straightening and suddenly she is the Commander once more, no longer the girl who wrapped her arms around Clarke and murmured soft promises into her hair and skin, where they settled like birthmarks.

It is almost impossible to match that girl with this woman.

"You lied to me!" She sounds like a spoiled, ignorant child and she hates it, can't seem to control it any more than she can control the trembling of her limbs and the shudder of her heart. "I thought- you said you were nothing, just a serving girl."

"Yes, I lied." Lexa barely moves, is as still as the mountains in the face of Clarke's fury. "I did what I had to to protect myself and my people."

"Oh don't talk  _ shit _ ," she strides forward, wading through the hurt that separates them, until she is mere inches from Lexa's chest. "You know what you did! We were more than just...  _ friends _ , Lexa! We were... you and I, we-" her words fall to nothing, tumbling like autumn leaves to the ground and she fumbles for something to say before Lexa cuts through her.

"What we were has nothing to do with the safety of my people. They will always come first."

The words hit her like a blow to the stomach and she feels as if she may cry, the tears lingering in the back of her throat threateningly and so she covers the last pace of ground between them and swings her fist up to crunch satisfyingly against Lexa's cheek.

Lexa staggers away a step, the force of her blow pushing her backwards and Clarke can feel the thrum of blood running through her veins, the thrill of adrenaline, but when she brings up her other fist for a second strike a quick, strong hand grabs at her wrist and forces her to a stop. Lexa's nose is bleeding, dripping dark red down onto her sash and the skin of her cheeks and chin, and though she looks angry there is also a shred of heartbreak slipping behind her eyes, dark in the shadows. Clarke's ragged breathing fills the room for a moment, before Lexa says, voice quivering just slightly.

"No more of this, Clarke."

She feels clouded in anger, as if it has settled around her shoulders and her hot cheeks and she goes to hit Lexa again, but the girl catches her too quickly and propels her backwards until Clarke smacks against the wall with a dull thud.

"Stop." Lexa commands through clenched teeth. "I will tie you up again if you force my hand."

"Of course you will," she spits furiously, "because I'm nothing more than a prisoner of war to you, am I? Just a pawn to be used and moved where you please."

"I  _ never  _ used you," Lexa's voice shakes, her cool demeanour cracking in the face of Clarke's rage. "What occurred between us was nothing to do with this."

"Really?" she demands, struggling to free herself from Lexa's iron grip. "Where is Hlin? What did you do with my dragon?"

Lexa falters, hesitating for a moment. "I used her," she admits at last, "I used my power as Heda to send her back to my people with our location."

"You've sent her away!" tears prickle in her eyes and a low, sick feeling curls in her stomach at the violation. " _ My _ dragon!"

"It was the  _ only choice _ ."

"How can I believe you? How can I trust  _ anything _ you say?" Her voice cracks and she stumbles for a moment, heaving in a shuddering breath, "how can I believe anything you  _ said _ ?" The words falter and crack over each other, like fragile glass sculptures shattering over edges that are far too sharp and she sees Lexa's expression soften, her eyes flicker with agony and she is soft when she tries to speak.

"Clarke... what I said... I meant every word-"

" _ Don't _ say that." This time when she tries to push her away Lexa lets her, stepping back and watching as Clarke walks quickly back through the room, pulling out a chair to sit heavily in. When she finally turns back to face Lexa, who looks as if she has been left stranded in the middle of a dark ocean, her features bathed in the soft light of the candles, her mouth is set in a thin line. "We are not who we once were. You are a leader and so am I, nothing more. I want nothing more to do with you,  _ Commander _ ."

"Clarke-" Lexa's brows crease and she has to tear her eyes away, swallowing against the heavy iron lump in her throat to say, shakily.

"No. Now tie me back up."

Lexa hesitates, staring at her for a moment with something between heartache and anger written into her features before finally she nods stiffly once, "as you wish."

Clarke is glad that Lexa is behind her when tender hands come to bind her wrists once again, because just the touch of warm skin is enough to send tears trailing silently down her cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *laughs nervously* oops? Come yell at me on tumblr @onemilliongoldstars (and maybe nag me about other projects because I have a ton I should be writing atm) or do it down below, whatever you want. Thank you for reading!


	14. this heart, broken and bruised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is gonna hurt. I'm really sorry.

"Heda."

Beside her Tyr stirs, grumbling with reluctance as he is roused from his almost slumber and she feels his muscles twitch and ripple as he heaves up his strong head, rearing around to look at the new comer through suspicious eyes that burn like coals. Reluctantly, Lexa too turns her gaze away from the steady burn of the campfire before her.

To her right Indra stands, hands clasped behind her back, serious and stern even as those around her revel in their momentary ceasefire, taking the time to drink and eat and be reunited with those they have lost. She knows why Indra hesitates though and thinks of the bodies laid out close to the water's edge, casualties forming in macabre lines, their loved ones standing over them in silent vigil. The tall body of Indra's son, however, lies unaccompanied, his mother stony faced and loyal to the core.

Lexa only wishes she had a half of her general's strength.

Indra's mount stands a few paces behind her, watching their exchange and bowing her head just slightly when Tyr bares his teeth and Lexa places a hand on her dragon's flank to calm him, standing smoothly.

"Indra, what news?"

"Our scouts say that the Sky People are in uproar, there is no sign of Anya or the others."

"Uproar?" Behind her Tyr heaves himself up until he is towering at his full height, following her as she steps closer to Indra. "How so?"

"They argue and debate, talk in circles so nothing is done," her lip curls in disgust just slightly, "they are without a leader, theirs is dead and the deputy- the mother of our captive- was injured by one of our own."

She fights not to let her eyes widen in surprise, to feign disinterest and pulls out her dagger from its place at her side, passing it between her hands to keep them busy and calm her racing heart. "The woman lies dying?" She holds no affection in her heart for Abby Griffin, cannot pretend to mourn the woman whose heart has been turned so bitter and angry, but she thinks of the girl still bound in the hut she claimed for herself and imagines blue eyes swimming, furious words choked out between tears and her stomach rolls threateningly.

"Indeed, Heda. The Sky People are vulnerable, they have no leader to guide them anymore." Indra's palms curl and her hands press into tight fists at her sides, "we must crush them while we still can."

She is silent, considering Indra's words as her eyes rise to flicker across the fire pits that are scattered out through the western part of the village, where families huddle under woollen blankets; children rest on their mother's knees and grasp small hands, lovers clasp their arms together and lean their shoulders close even as they eat and talk, brothers laugh but never stray far from one another's sides. And behind them, where the sea meets the land in a wide, black abyss, the bodies of the slain water the earth with their blood and the sobbing of loved ones is heard, even from such a distance.

"No." Her voice is low when she speaks, but the word is curt and quick. "No more."

"Heda?" Indra steps forwards, brows furrowing and Tyr lets out a harsh breath of air as Lexa squares her shoulders.

"There will be no more of this. We have lost too many in this battle already." She slides her dagger back into its sheath and looks back at the hut only a few paces away.

"Then what is our plan, Heda?"

"Negotiation," she responds at last, tearing her eyes away to look back at her General. "No more bloodshed. The girl, Clarke, will get us an audience with the Sky People and then we will negotiate a peace from this madness. Too many have already died in this ludicrous fight Indra, let us put a stop to it now."

"But will the girl cooperate?" Indra is agitated, eyes darting towards the mountains uncertainly and her dragon strides closer until the woman can reach back and touch her neck, fingers sliding across the warm scales. "If not, we could be leading ourselves into a trap and besides, why would they listen to her?"

"They have no other leaders," bending, Lexa scoops up the plate of bread and dried fish she had been picking at, along with a flagon of mead. "Why not the daughter of their deputy? She can persuade them to follow her, she  _ will  _ if she values the lives of her people."

Without waiting for the woman's reply, she turns on her heel and strides into the hut, dismissing the guards with an errant wave of her hand and leaving Tyr to pace outside, growling lowly in his throat. The door shuts quietly behind her and she stalls in the entrance, still holding the meal in her hands, her eyes fixing on Clarke's still body across the room.

Her head is hanging low in what looks like an uncomfortable position, hair dropping in long, tangled strands, matted with blood around her face. She is straining forwards against her bonds, but her body is peaceful and her shoulders move steadily up and down and Lexa realises, with a jolt, that the girl has fallen into a slumber after hours of being prone in her position. As quietly as she can, she deposits the food on the table close to the door and shrugs off her heavy war coat. Stepping forward, she kneels by the empty fireplace and stirs it into life with the kindling piled beside it and the candles still burning low around the room. It takes only moments for her creation to warm the room, but she moves towards the cot in the corner regardless and takes a blanket to drape around Clarke's inert form.

The touch, however, works against her intentions and the blonde jerks so suddenly upright that the blanket falls into a pathetic puddle behind her and her eyes dart around, landing first on the crackling fire and then on Lexa, hovering uncertainly close by.

They stare at each other for a moment, neither moving and Lexa wonders whether it is possible to fall into Clarke's eyes, to keep staring until she topples into those bottomless pools and is pulled-  _ down and down and down-  _ until all that is left is sweet darkness. It is a coward's dream and yet part of her yearns for peaceful oblivion.

Finally, she clears her throat and says, voice shaking. "Clarke. I thought you would be hungry."

Clarke follows her gaze to the plate and mug on the table and her lips tighten into a glower, jaw clenched. "Why would you care?"

Her shoulders slump suddenly, the weight that presses down on them momentarily too much and she presses her lips together, turning her eyes up to the ceiling to crush down the burning pit of tears in her throat, blinking rapidly. When she speaks her voice is dull and she chooses to ignore the way it quivers, "eat the food, Clarke."

"That could be a little difficult," Clarke jerks angrily in her bonds, yanking so forcefully that Lexa is sure the rope scratches and burns against her skin, though she shows no sign of it. Her stomach, however, is less obedient to her steely will and the loud grumbles betray her.

Hours ago, she may have smiled at the irritated glance Clarke casts downwards. Now, instead, she turns away to bring the offering closer, squatting until she can meet Clarke's eyes and say, seriously. "I will untie you, but you must swear to act sensibly."

"What, worried I'll go for you?" The accusation is spat in her direction even as she gently places the plate in Clarke's lap and edges around her to work her dagger carefully between her skin and the ropes.

With her hands freed, Clarke stretches, bending her arms gratefully at the elbow and shoulder before picking at the dried fish on the plate in front of her, fingers sliding over the oily flesh to pull the bones from the carcass. Quietly, Lexa pulls the second chair from its place beside the table and places it a few paces away, sinking down to watch the girl push the food back and forth across her  plate a few times before finally beginning to eat.

It takes very little time for Clarke to empty the plate and she accepts the flagon Lexa holds out without a word, draining it in a few fast gulps. She lowers the cup very slowly, eyes fixed suspiciously on Lexa and after a moment she speaks, still cradling the empty flagon between her hands.

"Was that my final meal?"

Her lips twitch at the idea, brows creasing and Lexa has to drag her gaze away, fix her eyes to the chair leg where Clarke's foot rests, staring at the rough hide of her boots as she speaks through a choked throat. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not being ridiculous," she is calmer than she was earlier, her voice still and steady and it stirs up uneasiness in Lexa's stomach, so much so that she forces herself to look at the girl. "I know what this is Lexa," a deep breath, only the shadow of a shake and the whisper of a nervously bobbing throat.

"And what, exactly, is that?" Her frustration simmers below the surface of her skin. Far from the stoic, collected interrogations she normally carries out, here she can feel her own emotions stirring like the first winds of a hurricane and Clarke is the ocean, the tide steady and calm as it laps against the land.

"War." The word is full, rounded with conviction that Lexa can't quite echo and the flash of Clarke's eyes almost breaks her trembling composure. "In war people die."

"You are not going to die."

"Really?" Clarke's eyebrows quirk sardonically, lips twisting in something close to a bitter smile. "It's a little late for promises you intend to keep, isn't it?"

"I have never broken a promise to you." She stands so suddenly that Clarke balks back just slightly, but Lexa only paces across the room anxiously, covering the space in a few quick strides and hesitating when she finds herself face to face with the cold stone wall.

"Of course, my mistake." Out of the corner of her eye she sees Clarke lounge back, stretching out her legs as if she has never been more comfortable. "What about the one where you said you wouldn't have any innocents killed?"

"It was not my intention-" she fumbles, swallowing heavily, "I wanted this to be a peaceful rescue, Clarke."

"It sure seemed that way when I watched you burn a square full of people alive." Clarke is losing her composure, her voice beginning to shake and when she stands Lexa turns from the wall, watching the tremble of her tightly clenched fists, the agonising pull of her features, betrayal written into every line. "And when I had to pick past the bodies to find the people I love."

"You were torturing  _ my people _ !" She steps forward, breaking rank for just a moment before barely managing to pull herself to a stop, every muscle in her body stiffening. "Families separated,  _ your dragon _ nearly murdered, I did what I  _ had to do _ -"

"Fern is  _ dead _ ."

The words fall like a hammer and she is so stunned that she almost cowers when Clarke approaches her.

"She... what?"

"She was killed," the words are spat like weapons at her, each one slamming into her heart hard enough to leave a dark bruise, "by one of your warriors. Practically cut in half actually, trying to save me." It's like a poison, sliding its way through her veins and settling in her heart.

A staggered breath leaves her and her eyes flicker shut for just a moment, the few sudden tears that escape her lingering on her cheeks like a cool reminder that she is far more human than she pretends to be. She can hear the heaviness of Clarke's breath, so close for just a second before the girl almost growls.

"So? Can you justify that? Can you justify  _ her _ ?"

Her eyes flicker open, burning with unshed tears, but she is iron and stone when she speaks again. "I cannot justify any of them and yet I must. As you said, Clarke, this is war. People will die."

Clarke lip curls in disgusted disbelief and she steps away, as if just being close to Lexa is enough to revolt her. "So this is how little a life means to you? Why not just kill me?"

_ You are different _ . The words hang on the tip of her tongue, linger there like a promise of hope and yet she bites them down, pushes them away long enough to answer. "I need you."

"Need me?" Her echo is a scoff and yet there is a slither of uncertainty, a slither of fear that urges her back towards her seat when Lexa steps away from the wall. "What use am I to you? I'm nobody."

"No, you aren't." She steels her heart, locks it away as far down in her chest as she can and when she meets Clarke's gaze again she is the Heda, the woman charged with leading a people to victory, with a hundred screaming, burning deaths like scars running through the inside of her skin, consuming her. "You are a natural leader, one your people will listen to."

"They have a leader," Clarke's tongue flickers out nervously, but she stands her ground, "even if Jaha is dead there's always Kane or my mother. One of them will take charge, they won't listen to me. Negotiate with them."

"Jaha  _ is  _ dead," she feels no remorse at the words, though Clarke's eyes shut briefly, grief flickering across her face for a moment, "but I must tell you..."

She hesitates, watches as Clarke's eyes open and turn to her, expectant and waiting and in that second she remembers soft touches, whispered words and stolen glances, dream-like sunsets and confessions murmured into skin so sweet she feels as if she can still taste it on her. She wishes that she could hide in these moments, make a home for herself within them like a field mouse sheltering from the harsh storms of winter and never see the hatred that will surely flash through Clarke's eyes at her next words.

But she is no field mouse.

She is a dragon and the world has given her only fire. A dragon cannot pause, cannot yield or surrender, it is not in their nature. They can only burn, just like her.

"Kane cannot lead alone, he is too weak."

Clarke's eyes crease and she stares at her for a moment, bewildered, "he doesn't... have to lead alone?"

"I'm afraid he does," her heart settles into place, armoured in the iron and steel of duty. "Your mother is dying, Clarke."

The girl blinks and for a fleeting second there is nothing, only a blank look of incomprehension and Lexa is so unnerved that she almost reaches out, almost touches at Clarke's barbed body like she has any kind of right to any more. But the second is broken by the scratch of a broken sob and she watches as Clarke's expression crumples, her mouth opening to heave in choked, stuttering breaths.

"W... What do you mean?"

"My scouts report that she has very little time left."

Clarke flies to her across the room, so fast that Lexa barely manages to catch her against her chest as Clarke clutches at her shirt, tugging and pulling frantically.

"She can't die, Lexa! She can't... you have to..." the words are caught in a strangle hold by her tears, bubbling from her mouth to shudder through her whole body like a tidal wave. Her shoulders shakes and her breaths are staggered and gasping, almost desperate as she grasps at them between the audible, mournful sound of her cries that tear at Lexa's heart.

"Easy," her hands come to rest at Clarke's shoulders as she feels the tears switch into panicked, hyperventilating sobs, her cries turning closer to screams of anguish and she is glad to have a hold on her when Clarke's knees buckle and she sags against Lexa's body, convulsing with her grief. Her tears soak through Lexa's shirt, running down her neck and over her collarbones and the trail of heartbreak seems as if it will burn into Lexa's skin, yet another scar to remind her that she is nothing more than destruction and death.

"She can't die." The words are muffled into her neck, Clarke's frantic breaths still heaving out in hot, heavy exhalations across her skin, "she's  _ all I have left _ . You have to let me go to her, Lexa, I'm the only other healer in the village and she'll die without me!"

She squeezes her eyes shut, tightening her grip on Clarke for just a moment and pressing her nose against her hair to breathe in her earthy, light scent one more time before she shakes her head.

"No."

" _ No _ ?"

"You know I cannot let you go, Clarke."

She cranes her head up determinedly, searching out Lexa's gaze so that when she asks, "is that Lexa or the Commander talking?" Lexa cannot flinch from her.

"We are one in the same."

Clarke's brows press back together and she battles to fight away her tears, though a few fall as she extracts herself from their embrace and shakes her head, lips quivering with fury and heartbreak. "I can't believe you," she trembles, rocked with fury and confusion and pain as if they are trying to pull her apart at the seams. "But I also can't believe  _ me _ ."

"Clarke, you have done nothing-"

"I know that!" She lashes out, wrathfully, "this is all  _ you _ . I can't believe that I could be stupid enough to give my heart to someone without one."

Lexa almost breaks, almost staggers forwards and grabs at her shoulders, shakes her and tells her that she has a heart, that it bleeds and breaks and shatters every day and yet still it beats on. She is forced to carry around the remnants of what she once was, a stark reminder of the little girl who laughed and danced and loved so very fiercely that she was given the hearts of a thousand people as a reward, traded only for her own young, tender passion. Instead though, she swallows the words away and manages to say. "I'm sorry that you feel this way, Clarke."

"You're  _ sorry _ ?" She shakes her head in disbelief, an almost manic gleam to her eyes as she spins on her heel and starts for the door. "I don't give a  _ shit  _ what you think, Lexa."

"Clarke, stop!" Lexa darts forward, grabbing at her wrist and heaving her backwards, their bodies colliding even as Clarke struggles against her hold. "You can't go out there!"

"Why not?" As her hands wrap around the girl's waist, keeping her trapped in place, Clarke thrashes against her hold, beating her fists angrily against Lexa's chest, "why would you care what happens to me? It'll just save you the dirty work of killing me yourself!"

One strike hits at her throat and she flinches away, huffing out in surprise before growling, "you are  _ not  _ dying today, Clarke."

Furious blue eyes, an ocean storm in a shining orb just waiting to be freed and drown them all, turn on her and she feels a shiver run up her spin when Clarke hisses, "I would rather die than spend another second with you."

The words catch at her swollen, angry heart and she blinks, grip loosening just enough for Clarke to stagger out of it and swing a punch so violent that it sends her reeling away when it hits the soft flesh of her face. She turns just in time to see Clarke's hands curl around the poker by the fire, her eyes burning with fury as she swipes it at Lexa, hitting her soundly and she feels the violent crack of a rib, a pain that sends her stumbling to the floor and crying out. Clarke freezes at the sound, her eyes widening and rolling to the poker in her hands, which she drops as if it on fire. It clatters to the ground with a crash and a second of silence stretches between them as they stare at one another, both heaving for breath.

The door slams open and Indra bursts in, followed by warriors who grab at Clarke's arms and pull her backwards towards the chair again, binding her soundly to it even as she screams and struggles. Indra drops to the floor beside Lexa, reaching out to touch at her shoulder and she brushes over her for injuries, but Lexa can only see the warriors raising their fists to Clarke and she manages to force out, through the heaving, pained breaths beating a staccato pain against her chest.

"Stop! She is not to be harmed!"

"But Heda-" Indra's angry eyes dart from Lexa to Clarke and back again, but Lexa reaches out to grab at the mantelpiece and wrench herself upwards, standing as straight and as tall as she can with the blinding pain pulsing throughout her side.

"I said," she pauses to gasp sharply for breath, "she is not to be harmed. Do I make myself clear?"

" _ Sha Heda _ ."

Indra guides her towards the door, but she pauses in the archway to steal one last glance of the girl she's leaving behind her. Clarke's shoulders are slumped forward, her neck bent as she wracks with undiluted grief, carved into every line of her expression like the most painfully exquisite marble and Lexa feels her heart crack once again, splitting in two as she hesitates for just a second, before letting the door swing closed.

Damn this broken, bruised heart. She would rather throw it into the ocean than carry it around for one more moment.

At least if she was heartless, she wouldn't feel it breaking a thousand times over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I'm hurting you, but this was never gonna be a happy fic tbh. We have two chapters left and a possible epilogue, so hit me up with comments either here or (I feel like I say this every time) please feel free to come spam me with WHATEVER over on my tumblr (@onemilliongoldstars)


	15. charcoal ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I agonised over this chapter for so long, it felt wrong to me and I've finally got it to a point where I feel vaguely happy with it. I'm sorry for the wait, the agonising took time, plus I've been working two jobs and writing other things.

  1. _charcoal ghosts_



Her dreams are nothing more than sounds, the flash of colour and faces that she barely recognises shifting and fading in and out of the shadows that surround her. Octavia's eyes, her hand reaching out to grab her. The cold touch of Jaha's fingers against her jaw as the life was snatched so violently from him, his eyes wide as if surprised. Her mother's mouth, twisted with pain and the thump of her body as it hit the floor.

But mostly she sees Lexa. Lexa's eyes, as hard as steel and dark as the night. Her lips, pressed into a stoic, unforgiving line and her fingers curling around Clarke's waist and holding her back, her touch never more unwelcome than in that second.

When she wakes, it is suddenly and with a heaving, gasping breath, as if she has been drowning in the dreams that plague her mind. She is stiff, her neck taut with the pain of being hunched over herself and when she blinks her eyes open they sting with salt, her eyelashes sticky and uncooperative. Her cheeks feel as if they are creasing and cracking, like heavy parchment being torn by a strong winter wind and a throb of pain runs through her head when her eyes finally focus and she notices the embers burning low in the grate.

She is alone in her small cell. Her eyes dart to the fireplace and she flinches at the sight of the poker, lying discarded and unwanted beside the hearth. Clarke can still hear the crack of metal against bone, feel the pain in her shoulder where she lifted the poker high and swung it at Lexa, the startled exclamation and thud as the girl clattered to the floor like an unwanted chess piece.

She had thrown their queen to the ground.

But at what cost?

There's an ache in her chest, as if a piece of shrapnel has made its purchase there and she shifts a little in her seat, fighting against the churn of her stomach and the creak of her weakening heart. Finally, when it becomes too much, she pulls her eyes away from where Lexa's body had lain, sprawled against the floor and dips her head back, stretching out her neck and squeezing her eyes shut.

Her mother lies dying, somewhere so close that it's painful to think about though the images flicker behind her closed lids like lightning flashing through a dark night. And though she has hated her mother many a time, the idea of losing her makes her eyes sparkle impossibly with more tears and the hammer of her heart feel like a physical blow, shuddering her apart.

A creak and sudden light makes her dart up, straightening in her seat to glare through the torch light at the intruders. A man, taller than any she has ever known, with paint smeared across his cheeks and skin like the night sky, holds the torch high enough that it illuminates the rest of the room and though his mouth is pressed into a thin, serious line, his eyes are gentle and kind. The figure beside him steps into the light and Clarke feels her lips curl back in an instinctive snarl, brows furrowing as she attempts to shift backwards against her seat.

"Stay quiet," Lexa instructs her simply and the shawl thrown about her hair and shoulders casts her face into shadow as she approaches swiftly.

"What are you doing?" She means to shout, means to yell and scream and wake the whole village if she has to, but her voice is cracked and thin and it comes out as a slightly shrill demand.

"Cutting you loose," true to her words, Clarke feels the ropes that bind her wrists fall away under the sharp blade of Lexa's dagger. She stands so quickly that her legs shake and her knees buckle, unaccustomed to holding her weight and Lexa's hand curls around her elbow to steady her.

"What's going on here?" She yanks herself from the touch, though Lexa's fingers seem to burn where they touched her skin and she wonders whether she will ever be able to soothe away to ghost of Lexa's touch or whether she will be cursed to carry around the caress of a palm, the smear of a thumb print.

"Quiet," Lexa tells her again, stepping away to join the man holding the torch and it is only when she can see her more clearly that Clarke realises she is hunched, curled over the place where Clarke's weapon had struck her only a few candle marks before. A flash of regret runs through her, climbing high and strong before she stifles it, tackling it back down again. "This is Lincoln," she nods to the man, "he will accompany you back to your people and make sure that you stay hidden. I will go with you as far as I can to ensure that no harm befalls either of you."

The words make her pause, blinking owlishly at the woman and she feels the exhaustion and weariness seeping through her bones as she shakes her head sluggishly, expression twisting with confusion. "I don't understand... you're letting me go?"

Lexa swallows so heavily that Clarke is able to track the bob of her throat, the faded bruises that settle there like shadows under the light of the torch. "Yes," she speaks at last, "you are free to go. Save your mother, Clarke."

For a moment she almost breaks, almost runs to her and throws her arms around the brunette, clings gratefully to her and pleads into the faint bruises on her neck for Lexa to join her, abandon her people here. But instead she clenches her fingers into fists, pulls them behind her back as if to restrain herself and manages to nod, just once.

Lexa's jaw tightens and she thinks she sees the woman swallow again, but Lexa is turning away quickly, nodding for Lincoln to drop the torch into a bucket of cold water by the door, letting it spit and hiss as smoke rises up around them and they are pulled into dimmer light. The men who have been guarding her don't bat an eyelash as Lexa hurries her out of the hut and a shawl is pushed into her hands, dark and thick so that she can wrap it around her hair and face.

They walk quickly, Lexa leading while Lincoln follows on behind Clarke, keeping her hidden between them and Clare can feel her heartbeat thudding, the heavy rap of it in her chest like the flap of a caged bird. There are people everywhere, strange and foreign to her and she startles when she sees faces she recognises, carpenters and farmers and labourers all rammed together around burning fires, eating plentifully and holding one another close, as if they could lose their loved ones if they let go. The only thing one seems to have in common with the next is the tight ring of iron around their necks.

"So many people..." she doesn't even realise she is speaking until the words leave her mouth, barely louder than a breath and yet Lexa hears her and hesitates in the shadow of a building to let some of her own warriors pass.

"Over two thousand," her eyes dart to meet Clarke's wide, startled gaze and when she does Clarke sees that they are deep and sorrowful. "They are grateful to be together once more, to feel free of their chains."

She swallows and her gaze moves to the floor, unable to look at Lexa any longer. An uncomfortable silence settles between the three of them before Lexa clears her throat and gestures out into the alleyway. "We keep moving, stick to the shadows Clarke, you must not be recognised."

She follows in Lexa's footsteps once again, slipping through the alleyways and ruins of buildings she once knew as well as her own home but Clarke is unable to raise her eyes and each time they pass a fire she turns her head, withdraws herself even further from the light that is cast upon her guilt.

At the chatter of young voices and sudden brightness that reaches them when they pass silently through the alleyways, only steps from the old well square, Clarke can't help but raise her eyes to peer curiously at the large, canvas tent heaved up. Guards mill around, none stationed and stiff as the ones at Clarke's makeshift cell had been, but instead easy and relaxed, talking and sharing flagons of mead and water around the many fires build around the tent which glows with light. Her eyes turn to Lexa curiously and see the woman hesitating, her own gaze caught by the sight. When she notices Clarke's curiosity she averts her eyes and says, stiffly.

"A make shift orphanage, until we are able to depart."

Clarke's throat tightens at the words and she wraps her arms around her waist, holding herself close as she says. "Wars create orphans."

"So does slavery, Clarke." There is no blame in Lexa's voice, it carries free from accusation but Clarke still flinches at the weighty sadness that sits like dew on the morning grasslands on Lexa's words.

"We should keep going."

Lexa only bows her head in agreement.

It is clear when they pass the temporary borders drawn out between the two camps. Guards stand along each alleyway and it is only a sharp few words in Lexa's mystifying language that keep the ones they pass from saying anything. Lexa and Lincoln are both suddenly more cautious, their hands shifting to their weapons as the three of them slide between the stacks of rubble like ghosts through the ruins.

A sudden arrow released from bows close to the hill sends them scattering and when the second comes Clarke is not prepared to feel Lexa's hands wrap around her waist and swing her body away, throwing herself into the arrow's path. A soft grunt escapes the woman and she staggers as Clarke's arms turn to supports, hauling her back a few steps until they can shelter in the empty shell of the old tanner's home. Gently, she sets Lexa down on a flat slab of stone, speaking urgently.

"Lexa! Lexa, are you okay?"

"Fine," Lexa shakes away her concern, reaching out to brush at the gash the arrow had made across her thigh. "Just a graze."

"Sit down," Clarke pushes her back when she tries to rise, shoving at her shoulder a little roughly and falling to her knees next to her to press her own hand against the wound. Her fingers come away sticky and red with blood, but Lexa is right, it's only a scratch and Clarke knows she has survived worse than this before. Uncertain eyes dart up to look at the brunette again and she swallows hesitantly for a second before raising a hand to touch gently at the side Lexa is favouring. "I'm sorry that I hit you."

Lexa's eyes dart open, widening in surprise to look at her but she says nothing, blinking through the moonlight at her and Clarke looks down at where her hand rests against Lexa's skin, unable to face her.

"Did I hurt you?"

"Just a broken rib," Lexa smiles, a strange, twisted version that is weak and wry. "Nothing too bad."

Her eyes flicker shut for a moment and when she heaves in a breath she can feel it shuddering against her lungs. "I'm sorry."

"Why?" A hesitant touch comes to rest on her shoulder, thumb curling unthinkably into small, soothing circles. "Surely, Clarke, I have done enough that you should never feel sorry." Lexa's voice cracks over the words, but Clarke still doesn't raise her eyes, doesn't think she could bear to see the tears that are sure to spill over harsh, hollow cheeks.

"You were saving your people." It falls from her lips like a confession, reverent as a prayer whispered fruitlessly into hot furs and hotter skin and yet she feels so very cold in this moment.

"As were you."

She smiles just slightly, a staggered, bitter thing that stretches across her lips despite the tears in her eyes. "When did this become so complicated?"

Lexa's hand shifts hesitantly from its place on her shoulder and when she touches at her cheek Clarke doesn't flinch away. The sadness in Lexa's eyes seems to weigh just as heavily in her heart when she says. "When indeed?"

"I don't think I can forgive you," the words are choked and cracked, they seem to fall so heavily around them as if everything she has ever known with Lexa is crumbling and when Lexa bows her head, shoulders tight and tense with the effort of holding back her tears, Clarke blinks away the few that still linger in her eyes.

"My actions _are_ unforgiveable Clarke, but please know that I _wish_ this could have happened to anyone but-"

" _Heda_!" Lincoln's heavy frame staggering into view tears them both apart, sending them reeling back from one another and when Lexa raises her head, Clarke sees that she tightens her jaw and presses her lips together to listen to what Lincoln is saying. "You shouldn't be out this far!"

"I am fine, Lincoln," she heaves herself up, pushing with pained, gasping breaths to stagger to her feet.

"When the scouts see you returning..." Lincoln trails off, eyes flickering hesitantly between them, "they will _know_."

"Know what?" Clarke's gaze darts from Lincoln to Lexa, "what is he talking about, Lexa?"

"Nothing," she shoots a hard glance at Lincoln, but the man ignores it, brows furrowed stubbornly.

"They will know that she has helped in your escape."

"And they'll be angry?" Her eyes widen furiously, shaking her head. "Lexa, they could kill you! You can't take a risk like that!"

"Clarke," her voice is sharp and curt, cutting through Clarke's worried ramblings like a jackhammer. "All will be well, I am the _faya kom keyron_ they will not hurt me."

"The _Skaikru_ will not feel the same way _Heda_ ," Lincoln glances back up the hill, at where the longhouses sit lit by torches and the shadowy figures of patrolling guards. "You can come no further or they will string you up."

Lexa swallows, following his gaze before nodding gravely. "I fear you're right, Lincoln. You must accompany Clarke to the _Skaikru_ , the two of you will take them our terms."

"Will you be safe returning alone?" A shiver runs down her spine when she hears the echo of shouting from the longhouses above them, but at Lexa's firm nod she continues. "What are your terms, then?"

"Negotiation." Lexa seems abruptly weary and heavy, her shoulders hunching and her eyes sorrowful when she says, quietly, "I have no more desire for war, Clarke, our peoples have suffered enough for one life time, let alone a day."

"So we'll meet, try to negotiate a peaceful solution?" At Lexa's nod she breathes out a slow sigh of relief, glancing uncertainly back at where Lexa's camp sprawls out among the houses. "Midday tomorrow, in the market square."

"I will be there." Lexa's promise is soft in a quietly exhausted sort fo way and Clarke wonders, abruptly, how long Lexa has been fighting this war, whether she ever really stopped from the moment she stepped foot onto these shores.

"Good," it feels awkward and stilted when she takes a step away and so she turns, hesitating to watch the woman as she straightens, clenching her jaw against her injuries. The shawl has fallen from about her head and the golden strands woven into her braids gleam in the moonlight, her eyes still darkened with faded, smudged kohl. She seems so abruptly young under all of these vestments and Clarke remembers the soft touch of work worn, charcoal stained fingers beneath her hands, wiping gently with a damp rag. Lexa had been so incredibly fragile and yet really she had never known her, not truly. The thought sends a spike of anguish running through her and she swallows against the lump forming in her throat. "Be safe, okay?"

"You too," Lexa bows her head and Clarke turns before she can change her mind, setting a hurried pace darting through the buildings towards the base of the hill, where she can see the archers are stationed on the bank watching them, arrows trained on her.

"Don't shoot!" She throws her hands up, waving them madly, but still only just manages to jump away from the arrow that flies in her direction, stumbling against the small stone wall to her side and clinging to the chalky brick as raised voices sound again, close enough that she can hear the rough tones.

"Wait! Don't shoot her!"

Peeling herself away from the wall, she staggers a few more steps forward until she can make out the figure tearing himself away from the guard and hurrying through the darkness towards her. Her shoulders slacken and she thinks she can feel her knees shaking against her steps, but by the time she stumbles the warm, familiar arms of Bellamy Blake wrap around her, pulling her up and keeping her steady even as he clings to her.

"Clarke," hot, heaving breaths flutter out across the skin of her neck and she barely recognises the sob that is torn from her throat. His fingers curl into the thin fabric of her shirt, hands contracting into fists as if he can barely believe she is real and the hints of wetness against her bare flesh and the shudder of his shoulders tell her that he is sobbing into her. "I thought you were dead," the words are choked and less than a whisper when they come again, "I thought you were _dead_."

"I'm not," a shaking palm comes to rest at his back, rubbing gently for a few moments before she shakily begins to untangle herself from him, "Bell, I'm fine."

"Where have you been?" He pulls away only to keep her within arms' reach, frantic eyes searching her face for any sign of injury, "what happened to you? Everyone said the Dragon Riders had you but we thought, with Lexa..."

"They did have me but Lexa," the name comes out stumbling and strangled, "she let me go because..." her eyes widen, blinking at him suddenly in the torchlight, "my mother!" She tears herself from his grip, staggering a few steps past him up the hill, "take me to her!"

"Clarke." The voice makes her jump and they both spin around, Bellamy's hand darting down to the sword at his hip when his eyes finally focus on the towering man before him.

"Lincoln," in her rush she had forgotten Lexa's instructions for the man to accompany her and she reaches out to touch at Bellamy's shoulder carefully. "Bell wait, he's a friend."

"You know this guy?" Bellamy's shoulders remain tense, his fingers still curled around his sword and she tightens her grip just slightly, yanking at his shoulder.

"Yeah, sort of, he busted me out and Lexa asked him to look after me, I saw her do it myself."

"So you don't even know who he is?" Bellamy casts an outraged look over his shoulder and goes to draw his sword, "he could be anyone, he could want to kill us all while we sleep!"

"He won't!" Her eyes dart back to the longhouse on the hill where she knows her mother lies waiting and her voice spikes with agitation, "come on Bellamy, we don't have time for this!"

"I would never break a promise to my Heda," Lincoln's quiet, solemn intonation allows Bellamy to relax, just slightly and Clarke's shoulders slump in relief at the sight, tugging on Bellamy's shoulder again.

"Great, so come on Bell! I have to get to my mother!"

"Alright," his eyes dart uncertainly to Lincoln, though he takes a faltering step away from the man. "But I'll be keeping an eye on this guy. Give me your weapons." With reluctance, Lincoln drags his sword out to place it in Bellamy's outstretched hand and slides two daggers to join it before Clarke's patience wears too thin and she spins around to take off in a sprint up the hill.

The guards jolt, surprised at the sight of her but most know her well enough to allow her to pass and she can't allow herself to worry about Lincoln and Bellamy for any longer because in moments she is lost inside the small camp her people have constructed around the few remaining longhouses on the hill. Most of the people camping outside, around high burning bonfires, seem to be guards or hardy, strong men with pitchforks and axes and stony expressions. She doesn't bother to stop and inspect them, but instead keeps running through the campfires and the plumes of smoke. Her mother is somewhere close, she's sure and with a jolt she realises that her old home is still standing, though the walls and roof are slightly charred.

Turning, she begins to make a beeline for the doors when her feet grind to a halt and she stalls, staring at the line of people being pushed and prodded into the dirt near the crown of the hill. Guards shove them down by their shoulders or hair and some struggle, ripping against the rope that binds their hands to snarl and snap at the guards, earning a slap or a smack with the hilt of the guards' swords.

"Clarke," Bellamy arrives close at her side, but when he goes to touch at her arm and lead her away she shrugs off his grip as if it's nothing, eyes still glued to the prisoners as a little boy is shoved, crying, into the mud beside his young mother. They lean together, he tries to press up into her side for warmth and comfort but the guards tear them quickly apart, tugging coarse hoods over their heads. "Come on," Bellamy urges gently again, but it is the soft growl she hears from Lincoln that finally snaps her from her reverie.

"What's going on here?" Her voice is sharp as an arrow head and Bellamy swallows a little nervously.

"Prisoners," he explains at last, "to show them that we mean business."

"This is disgusting," she turns to cast him a sneering glance, "who's responsible for this?"

"Kane." His gaze flickers over to the longhouse, "he's just trying to keep us afloat here Clarke, you know that we're-" Bellamy stops himself abruptly, narrowed eyes darting suspiciously to Lincoln before shifting closer and saying, lowly, "you know that we're outnumbered."

" _I_ was a prisoner in their camp Bellamy, remember?" She tears herself away from him, sparing one final glance for the shivering captives before stamping towards the longhouse, "I was treated far better than any of them."

His reply is lost to her as she pushes past the guards stationed at the longhouse door and barges her way inside only to stop in the doorway, blinking against the heavy smoke that fills the crowded room. It is hot, despite the high rafters, and filled to the brim with people. Mostly they are fighters, men who have volunteered their services, boys too young to be wielding heavy longswords, though some families gather like flocks of crows around piles of hay and ragged furs. A hot fire burns in the grate and she balks when she sees the captive slave chained nearby, poked and prodded by people into keeping it stocked and blazing.

Stepping further into the house, she dodges around rushing bodies, brows creasing at the sight of the wounded who lie ailing on makeshift pallets and she falls to her knees at the first bedside she comes across. A girl is curled around herself on the mound of furs now matted with her blood and when the person next to her looks up at Clarke she recognises the man as Archer, the tanner, and the girl as his young daughter. His eyes widen at the sight of her and he goes to stand, though his daughter's frail grip on his hand keeps him seated.

"Clarke!" His voice is rough and scratched, but no less awed. "You're alive!"

"I am," she pushes her sleeves up to her elbows, pressing the girl gently around the see to the wound at her stomach. "How is she?"

"Stable now," his blinks at her anxiously, "with your mother gone there was no one else left to help except for Erin, the midwife's apprentice- here she is, see."

A warm body drops down beside hers and when she turns, two sombre blue eyes stare out of a rounded face, frizzy hair curling around her forehead and ears from the heat and the stress of the work. A sheen of sweat sits over Erin's tired face, but she is robust and sensible to a fault so Clarke is unsurprised when she takes a brisk look over Archer's daughter and says, matter-of-factly, "I told you Archer, there's nothing to be done now. If she's in good health she should pull through to the morning and we'll see where we can go from there," her fingers at Clarke's arm urge the blonde upwards again even as Archer's features twist in anguish.

"Please," he half rises once more, too reluctant to leave his daughter's touch but unable to let them go. "Can you not give her anything for the pain?"

"I'm afraid not," Erin replies in clipped tones and before she can argue Clarke is dragged away, pulled a few steps through the milling crowd.

"Wait," she looks back to Archer, now leaning over his daughter in despair. "There's plenty of supplies in my mother's longhouse, if we could just-"

"Most of your home was destroyed in the fire," Erin replies, curtly, before lowering her voice slightly. "And what little we have are being used to save your mother. We need her."

"My mother..." she feels almost dazed, turning to peer through the dim longhouse, "where is she?"

"There," Erin nods to a dark corner, where a cloth partition is swung up to create a separate room and Clarke manages one stumbling step forward before her eyes are caught by something else and she comes to an abrupt halt, turning to grab Erin before she can move away.

"What's that?"

Erin follows her gaze, looking to where the figures are huddled together in a dark corner and her eyes crease, lip curling in disgust. "Some of the rebels they managed to catch. Taking up space so they can make sure none of them make a run for it."

She's hurrying towards the group before the woman has even finished, ignoring her protests as she pushes through the crowds to stare at the men, women and children who shiver despite the heat. They kneel together, hands and ankles bound, many of them bleeding sluggishly from injuries that have gone hours without medical attention  and yet still they scowl and mutter insults in alien tongues at the guards stationed around them.

"Sky girl!" The words, yelled out in hoarse, guttural sounds sends her reeling around until she spots the dark, familiar figure struggling against guards to stand. Anya is bedraggled, her hair matted with blood and her face pale, but the fire in her eyes, the strength in her shoulders and back as she fights against the hands trying to keep her down is almost frightening.

"Anya," Clarke elbows her way past the guards until she is closer to the woman, surrounded by the resentful stares of Lexa's people, "What are you doing here?" She drops down to one knee to touch carefully at the jagged wound that runs across Anya's hairline. "Are you alright?"

Anya ignores her questions, ripping herself away from Clarke's touch to glower at her, loathing written into every line of her features. "Where is Lexa?" She growls out, tugging against the guard's firm grip, "how did you come to be here?"

"Lexa... let me go," her words are soft, muttered so that the surrounding slaves can't hear her and Anya's lip curls with disgust and she turns to spit harshly at the floor. Clarke's stomach rolls at the action and she hurries to defend the woman, despite herself. "She's only doing what she thinks is right; she doesn't want to fight any more, she wants to negotiate for peace."

"Negotiate _what_?" Anya snaps, "these people have nothing for us, why does she not burn them all to the ground?"

"For you," Clarke's murmur only makes Anya's brows furrow further, but she ploughs on, "for all of you. She won't see any more of her people hurt."

“Foolishness! Her sacrifices will kill her!” Anya grinds her teeth, eyes flashing dangerously. "This is all _your fault_ sky girl."

"Clarke!" When she turns Erin is beckoning her from safely behind the line of guards and she stands, looking out at where the injured, weakened slaves struggle to huddle together under the close scrutiny of the warriors and feels the hair on the back of her neck lift and stiffen.

"I will make sure you are all released to be with your people," she promises Anya quietly, though the woman shows no sign of hearing her, and starts a hurried pace back through the longhouse towards her mother's private quarters.

The space behind the curtain is dim and crowded with figures. Octavia is the first person she sees and though the girl is across the room her eyes widen at the sight of Clarke and she pushes her way past the others to throw her arms around her and pull her in close.

"Clarke," the word is breathed into her ear, staggered and almost lost in her hair. " _God_ Clarke I thought you were-" her breath catches and she has to swallow heavily, blinking away the tears in her eyes before she can continue, "I thought you were _dead_ you asshole."

"Clarke?" Kane's voice pulls her head from the crook of her friend's neck and she reluctantly plies herself away from Octavia, though the girl stays glued to her side. Kane seems older than before, his face pale and his eyes haunted and she feels suddenly tired just looking at him. "We're so glad to see you alive and well. How did you escape?"

"It doesn't matter now," she pushes past him and the other, half familiar faces that seem to shift in and out of the shadow cast by the few meagre candles scattered around the room to come to her mother's bedside. "How is she?"

Fingers stretch out to brush against the cold, tight skin of Abby's cheek, pushing a strand of hair back from her face. She is breathing, steady but shallow and when she peers down she can see that the wound seems to be well enough bandaged and cared for. A sigh of relief escapes her at the sight, there will be little chance of an infection, fortunate as she doesn't have the herbs required to soothe away a fever. There is a pallor to her skin, a sheen of sweat across it, but there is little she can do about the blood loss and her mother seems to be keeping steady.

"She was bad but Erin patched her up rather well with Octavia's help," Kane comes to stand at her side, "she's been like this for most of the night with little change."

She nods, throat choking a little and when she speaks her voice is cracked and hoarse, "could you just... give me a minute?"

They all nod obediently, filing from the room and it's only when the curtain falls shut behind them that Clarke lowers herself shakily into the stool beside the bed, hands resting limply on the sheets beside her mother's body. Abby looks so strange this way, more of a ghost than a person and as her eyes track her mother's body, taking in every inch for a sign of further injury, she tries to think back to a time when her mother was this still, this quiet and peaceful and weak.

"You haven't stayed still this long since dad died," her quiet words rumble from her chest, bitter laughter twisting at the edges of her speech.

She can see it still, her mother like a charcoal ghost floating through her memories, flitting from one task to the next without really settling. Most of the time she would wander through the otherwise empty house, pick things up and turning them over in her hands, examining things she brought in her bridal chest as if she’d  never seen them before and placing them down again like they meant nothing to her.

Sometimes it was as if she had lost both parents.

She doesn't even realise she's crying until the first tears hits her outstretched hands, and Clarke has to blink to clear her blurry vision, sniffling and swallowing against a suddenly dry throat.

"Don't do that to me, okay?" She reaches out to touch her mother's hand but it is strange, cold and limp and heavy in her grasp and she lets it drop once more, stomach curling. "Don't you dare die. You aren't allowed to, not yet. I have so much more left to say to you, so much more you have to know and see. This isn't fair."

"Clarke?" The voice makes her startle and she turns, brushing hurriedly at her cheeks to see Kane's hesitant face peering in from behind the curtain. "Is everything okay?"

"Um, yeah," she stands quickly, hovering at her mother's head as Kane and Octavia slip back in, Octavia immediately returning to stand by her side. "There's not much more I can do, so long as it didn't hit anything major," Octavia shakes her head, "she's lucky," she casts a more practiced hand over her mother's forehead and cheeks. "Keep her hydrated. If she wakes give her water, or better still sweet tea, make her drink it all. Food as well if she can handle it, red meats and dark vegetables."

Octavia nods, hesitantly, but it is Kane who voices his query, "and where are you going?"

Squaring her shoulders, she raises her chin to look him in the eye as she says, succinctly. "You and I have to sort out our terms of negotiation."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think!


	16. enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a recap: Lexa released Clarke from the grounder camp so that she could rally her people to negotiate a peace with them. Hlin (Clarke's dragon) was sent away by Lexa. Since the grounders attacked no one has seen Raven. Everyone is tragic, including me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoaaaaa bet you thought you'd seen the last of me!! I read this fic today like the narcissist that I am and was suddenly like why did I never finish this?? So here we go, have the final chapter. Please don't shout at me. I am a tender soul. 
> 
> Recommended listening: "Farewell" from the Pocahontas soundtrack.

  1. _enough_



The air still hangs heavy with smoke, dark wisps twisting up into the sky from the smouldering remains of the home she has known for most of her life. It tickles at the back of her throat and her nostrils, making her scrunch her nose in displeasure. Despite this, however, the air is still slightly fresh after the few hours of rainfall they had had that morning. The sky is clearing now, shifting from the heavy fog and stormy grey clouds that had lingered for days to a faint, hazy blue, the sun struggling through in thin, watery rays. There's the smell of food in the air as well, the scent of cooking fish and meats and, just faintly, the salt of the sea.

Beside her Kane is fidgeting uncomfortably, rubbing his fingers together where they are clenched behind his back and she spares him a cutting glance before her eyes turn back to the empty square before them. It's almost noon, according to the sundials that still stand at the top of the rise and a line of darkly clothed, tall and heavy Trigedakru stand at the far outskirts of their small clearing. They have been there since Clarke arrived and she is glad that she had had the forethought to bring what little army they have left, many of whom hold the struggling hostages in tight, white knuckled grips.

On her other side stands Bellamy, Octavia next to him and just behind her she can feel the tension rolling off Lincoln in waves, the hearty grip he has on the lone dagger Bellamy had allowed him.

"Where is she?" Kane is becoming antsy, shifting in place and she sets her jaw, looking out at the stoic, unmoving line of warriors that faces them.

"She'll be here." She promises, quietly.

The well square is a ghost of what it had been, the ground churned up with footprints, a sea of uneven mud made even worse by the recent rain. Scattered ruins of the old wells are strewn, half buried in the mud, but the bodies of the people who had been burnt alive a mere day before have been removed and Clarke feels a slight tug at her heart that Lexa would take the time to have her men haul away Clarke's dead so that she and her people wouldn't have to look upon their bodies as they negotiated for their lives.

"Are you sure Lexa is happy to compromise?" Octavia has lent in, lowered her voice so that she can speak quietly in Clarke's ear and the blonde nods once, a sharp upwards tilt of her chin as her eyes stay fixed forwards, watching the lines of the enemy in front of them, as still as if they were carved from stone. Octavia lets out a soft, impatient breath, eyes darting back up to the hillside anxiously.

"Any word of Raven?" Clarke's gaze finally breaks to look over at her friend, watching as Octavia sighs softly, shaking her head.

"Last I knew she wasn't among us, but nobody has reported her as dead and no one saw her fighting so..." Octavia swallows, teeth clipping together tightly as she fights against the tears edging at her throat.

"I'm sure Raven will be fine." Thoughts of her friend have plagued her most the night, from the moment she realised she hadn't seen or heard anything of the girl since the dragons had descended, but- as awful as she feels- she can't find the space in her head to chew on her worry, can't cram it in beside pulsing pit of fear for her mother, the apprehension that weighs heavily around her shoulders and the constant, aching throb of her heart.

"I hope so."

Clarke opens her mouth to respond, but as she does gasps and mutterings ripple through her people and she finds her eyes being drawn up to watch the sky as dark figures appear from the sky and she sees, once again, the towering mass of dragons that Lexa commands. They comes like a flock of birds, flying in unison and descending without any communication; they land heavily in the dirt behind the flanks of people, creatures both with and without riders thumping to the ground with a rumble. They seem to shimmer, in bright, exotic shades of red and green and blue and purple and colours she doesn't even have the name for. Big and small, some wiry and fast with wings twice the size of their bodies, some large and snarling with horns sprouting across their body, fire curling at each of their lips. Clarke feels her people shift anxiously.

The final few dragons glide to the earth a few second later, landing gracefully in front of the crowds and Clarke is finally able to get another good look at Tyr, the dragon she has heard so much about. He is large, casting a shadow over Lexa as she slides from his back, but his eyes, golden and burning, shift to find her and he turns his head, pressing it against her body even as she steps away from him. Lexa's hands smooth carefully over his skin, soothing him until he huffs out an accepting puff of steam and swings his head away again. A complicated, intricate saddle is attached to his back and strapped to that Clarke can see a plethora of weapons, daggers and a bow and filled quiver latched firmly to the shining leather. At Lexa's side swings a long, thin katana and the paint smeared around her eyes is darker than usual, but despite this her eyes are soft and weary, the exhaustion showing in every line of her face, though Clarke is sure that not many can see past the long coat, stark sash and golden cog centred between her eyebrows.

She looks foreign like this, frightening and Clarke feels a shiver run up her spine.

At Lexa's side Indra is sliding from the red dragon she calls her own and striding forwards, Gustus appearing like a ghost from the crowds to step up to her other side. Another dragon lands, slightly apart from the others, green like the moss of the trees and patterned with curling, rising patterns, like ivy winding through the forests. It is riderless and manic, swinging its head from side to side and scenting the air, roaring and stamping so loudly that Clarke sees several of her men stumble a few steps back, though Lexa's warriors do not flinch at the display.

Lexa's brows twitch a little and behind her Tyr rounds on the dragon to let out a ferocious roar. The foreign creature sidesteps away from him, hackles raising slightly to growl back, but when Tyr snaps his sharp teeth at the dragon and lets out a growl, the green dragon relents, bowing its head and stepping back towards Lexa's people, still rumbling quietly with angry growls.

There is only silence for a moment, a stillness hanging in the air as they observe each other until finally Clarke steals herself and steps forward, squaring her shoulders when she feels Kane follow on behind her, Bellamy stepping in behind him. Lexa follows her cue, bringing Indra and Gustus with her and Clarke thinks she sees the ghost of a smile on her face until suddenly they are only inches apart and it has vanished, replaced instead by the stoic, neutral commander who is at once both ever familiar and a complete stranger to Clarke.

"Clarke," Lexa speaks first, dipping her chin slightly in greeting and Clarke has to swallow at the sight of her so close, so real under the brightness of the sun. There had been a part of her, so small she'd been able to push it to the very back of her mind, that had hoped this would all be some elaborate joke or dream, but that part has vanished in the daylight, chased away with the stars and the moon.

"Lexa." She observes the woman, watches the way that Lexa's eyes take their time to glance over both Bellamy and Kane, before landing back on Clarke again.

"Thank you for agreeing to this truce." She is perfectly civil, as calm as can be and ridiculously Clarke feels herself bristle in response.

"You didn't give us much choice." Her words are bitten out between clenched teeth.

Lexa chooses to ignore her comment, eyes moving to the line of people behind her. "You have brought my people."

"Yes," her skin rises into gooseflesh at the sight of Lexa's appraising gaze. "They're all there, feel free to count."

"I do not need to," Lexa's eyes reach hers again, sombre and still and impossibly sad. "I trust you, Clarke Griffin."

The words seem to catch her breath, snatching at her throat until finally the silence that has passed begins to become tense and uncomfortable and Indra says something sharply in Lexa's foreign tongue.

Lexa nods in response, " _sha, Indra_." She looks back to Clarke, "My generals would have me slaughter your whole village," Clarke bristles again, stomach churning furiously as Bellamy hands tighten around the sword at his hip, but Lexa speaks on before she can reply, "but as you know, needless killing is not why we are here."

"You want your people back."

"You will release them _now_ if you do not want to bring the _Heda's_ fury upon you." Indra is almost growling, her lips pulling back from her teeth in a furious snarl and Clarke can feel Bellamy bristling behind her.

Lexa can evidently sense the rise in tension as well, because she cuts in before anyone else can speak. "We are not here to wage war or massacres." Her eyes meet Clarke's and she is frowning a little, her brows crooking and ticking together anxiously. "But it would certainly improve relations between our two peoples if you would release your captives, as we so readily released ours." She sweeps a hand in Clarke's direction and Clarke swallows, eyes flickering back to the few hostages who are still struggling.

"Why should we give up our only leverage?" Bellamy is talking before she can stop him, shouldering his way in front of her and she grabs at his arm, yanking him back again.

"A sign of courtesy would be well received by my people." Lexa's shoulders tighten, her lips thinning. "Make no mistake, _Skaikru_ , this is not a negotiation as such, it is a final plea for your lives. Many of my people scream for war, but I would rather allow you to live and improve relations between us. This will not happen without the release of our captives."

"But you will not fire on us when it could cause harm to your people," Kane points out, quiet and collected and Lexa finally seems to snap, casting dark eyes at Kane when she says, voice sharp and curt.

"You mistake me for somebody who is weak. I will do everything within my power to save my people, but you are a threat to the majority and if you will not release your hostages and continue with these peace talks then I will not flinch at burning every one of your people to death."

The words leave a horrible curl of bile swelling in Clarke's throat, rising like the tide and she has to tear her eyes away from Lexa, can't bear to look at her when death is carved into every line and arc of her face. Her eyes venture back to the hostages again, to where Anya is stood watching their deliberations with a stony expression and she speaks before anyone can stop her.

"Release them."

"Clarke!" Bellamy rounds on her in outrage and Kane holds up a hand to the guards, watching the two of them closely. "You can't do that!"

"These people are innocent Bell!" She shakes her head sadly, "and Lexa could easily kill us. This is our best chance to survive. _Release_ them!"

The guards behind her hesitate for a moment and their gazes swing between her and Kane until finally the man lowers his hand, with the grave words, "I hope you're right, for all our sakes."

Slowly, they begin to release their prisoners and Clarke watches in silence as the people stagger from captivity; some sprint across the churned up mud to fly into the arms of the loved ones that rush out to meet them, others limp and hobble, helped by those around them until they are met by tearful greetings and embraces, pats and hands pressed to cheeks, children swung into the arms of waiting parents and lovers wrapping around each other like they will never let go.

The most remarkable, however, is Anya. The woman shrugs off the hold of the man behind her easily and takes a few great strides across the land before she is met, not by a friend or loved one, but by the thrashing green dragon. The creature dips its head, crooning loudly as she places her hands on its neck and between its eyes and Clarke watches, her heart constricting in her chest as the woman clasps her arms around the dragon's neck and holds it close. Lexa's gaze catches her eye and she glances back to find the girl watching her, eyes fixed sombrely on Clarke's figure and when she sees Clarke's gaze she doesn't flinch away, holding steady as Clarke struggles not to say something.

Lexa turns away first, face falling back into the stoic mask, tinged with only the smallest smile as Anya approaches their group.

"Anya."

Her mentor grasps her arm, fingers closing about her elbow as Lexa returns the touch and they share a smile.

" _Heda_ ," Anya bows her head and it's almost jarring to see the woman Clarke knows as so powerful and strong submitting to Lexa.

"Anya, it is good to see you safe. You are valuable to our cause, I would not want to be without you." Lexa is oddly sincere, her grip tightening and Clarke sees Anya frown, sees the way her mouth tips into a tilted uncertainty and her eyes dart out to watch the people around them.

When she speaks, Anya's voice is measured and cautious. "You do not need me any more than any other, _Heda_ , but I am glad to serve you once again."

Lexa merely hums her agreement and when Anya breaks their grip and steps away to linger behind Gustus, her eyes follow her for a moment before flickering back to Clarke again. "Thank you," once again she is so sincere that Clarke almost scowls, instead she only frowns slightly, pressing her lips together into a tight line before saying, words clipped.

"Our debts are paid, Commander. We stand on equal ground."

"Our ground is far from equal," Indra mutters, but Lexa holds up a hand for silence and the woman bites back her words reluctantly.

"I am happy to forge a deal with you, Clarke of the Sky People," Lexa is serious and steady and Clarke tries to swallow down the flicker of hope in her chest. "My people do not want slaughter, only safety."

"They are free to go, they are safe." Kane crosses his arms, brows set and Lexa purses her lips, her eyes narrowing.

"The ways of your people are wrong, Marcus Kane. I am the Commander of all twelve clans, not just the Dragon Riders, as you call us. I have a duty to make sure that all of my people remain safe. Many would argue I cannot perform that duty if I allow you to live."

A gasp runs through the lines of her people and Bellamy has drawn his sword before Clarke can stop him. Gustus and Indra rip weapons from their scabbards and Anya steps forwards, but Clarke hurries to speak.

"Wait, no! You said you would be merciful, that you wouldn't destroy us."

"I am capable of mercy." Lexa agrees, though her eyes still watch Bellamy warily, "you are right in this. But I fear for my people, I fear that this will only happen again once you have your peace." Her eyes meet Clarke's, the forest meeting the water, the ground meeting the sky and Clarke feels as if she could fall into that gaze, be engulfed in sadness and sincerity until she drowned. "How can I allow that, Clarke?"

Suddenly it clicks. She remembers Lexa's warm presence beside her in Bellamy's home, her intense gaze on the papers spread out in front of her, storing away the information for later consideration. Silent but listening from the darkness, always there. She had been pushing Clarke to pull away from her people for so long, encouraging her in her efforts to find new lands and Clarke realises with a tear of her heart that Lexa must have been anticipating this attack for quite some time.

"You don't have the _right_ to decide who lives and who dies!" Bellamy is shouting from behind her and she pulls her astonished eyes away from Lexa to look at him.

"And yet you can pull people from their families? Rip the skin from their backs for disobeying you? When they owe you no fealty?" Lexa is calm but there is a tension to her, a rippling rage that runs beneath her skin like an underground current, silent but deadly.

"You're nothing but _savages_!"

The shout comes from their right and Clarke spins, craning her neck to see, suddenly, the man in bedraggled clothes, eyes red and bloodshot and face pale. Behind him, hauled forwards by a rope, is Raven's only finished harpoon firer.

"You killed my _daughter_!" Archer twists around the machine to take a deadly aim and there are screams, one of them hers and she staggers a useless step forwards as Lexa's people let out a ferocious cry, weapons hauled from scabbards. Gustus and Indra launch towards Archer but they are too late and too far away as Archer reaches back to flick the release.

" _No!"_ The shout comes from the ramshackle shells of buildings behind him and a  figure appears from the shadows, staggering and lurching into the sunlight to ram their shoulder into the machine and send it reeling in the wrong direction. The harpoon shoots away with a deadly whoosh and Lexa's people stagger to get out of the way as it flies upwards into the air, landing with a thump a few moments later in the remains of the old mill.

Archer lets out an enraged shout and drags the machine back into place but the figure, who had staggered to the ground upon impact with the machine claws forwards across the ground to scrabble at the machine, pulling at the open mechanisms until Archer notices them and kicks them brutally away, landing one to their head, then their face and another two to their ribs, vicious and cruel. As the person falls away, however, the long dark hair falls back from their face and Clarke recognises Raven despite the bruises painting her skin and the blood mapping a path down her face and neck.

"Raven!"

Indra and Gustus are running again, but Archer is reaching to fire the last of his harpoons, the string taut and as his hands reach the trigger Lexa turns to wave frantic hands at Tyr and Clarke realises who the target really is. What follows, however, is only a disappointing click and the dull thud of creaking machinery. Archer's face falls, his expression crumpling.

Indra and Gustus arrive moments later and Clarke is holding up her hands, crying out even as she starts towards Raven.

"Wait! No, don't-"

It comes far too late and falls on deaf ears as Gustus forces the man to his knees and tangles his hands into his hair like errant strands of rope, ripping it back to expose his neck to Indra's flashing blade. There is a scream, high and shrill from somewhere to her right but Clarke can't tear her eyes away, her mouth twisted with despair as red paints the man's skin and the ground beneath him.

She staggers another step forwards but then reels around, fury igniting through her veins. "You had no right-" But Lexa is not behind her where she had last been and she turns in a bewildered circle until her eyes fall on the crumpled figure of Raven and next to her, kneeling in the mud and trailing her vestments through the dirt, Lexa is bent over the girl, gentle hands on her cheek and arm.

She looks up and barks an order in a short, sharp voice, clipped words escaping her and on Raven's other side, Octavia raises her head and shouts Clarke's name in a strangled, anxious voice.

The ground falls away quickly beneath her as she breaks into a run across the uneven earth and stumbles down to Raven's side, her knees squelching in the fresh, soft mud as she leans over the girl to get a better look.

"Clarke?" Raven tries to lift her head to look at her, but Clarke hushes her quietly, holding out a placating hand to keep the girl still.

"Careful, just stay still for a second. Do you know where you're hurt?"

"Just my ribs," Raven ignores her, levering herself up with a harsh hiss of pain and Lexa hurries around behind her to support her body carefully. "Are you alright? I thought... well I didn't know what to think really."

She presses careful fingers up Raven's ribs, stopping when she gets to the fourth and Raven flinches away, letting out a small whimper. Gently, and with a glance up at the girl to be sure she doesn't mind, Clarke raises her shirt and cringes at the sight of red marks, sure to quickly darken into bruises, and the displacement of bone that forms a lump beneath her skin.

"I'm fine," she lowers Raven's shirt and her eyes flicker up to look at her with a frown, "but you have a broken rib and probably a concussion. I can wrap the ribs but that could do more harm than good. It'll heal naturally but it isn't going to be pretty, I'm afraid."

"I have herbs that will help with the pain."

Her eyes dart over in surprise and her whole body stiffens when they land on the man towering above them. Beneath his wild hair and beard and the tattoos that spiral across his face are kind, caring eyes but she is still wary, her eyes jumping to Lexa in confusion before settling on the stranger.

Luckily Octavia voices her thoughts.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Our most skilled healer, Nyko." Lexa speaks calmly from behind Raven, "I thought he could be of some assistance."

Clarke bristles, jaw clenching and eyebrows furrowing at the implication, "we're _fine_ , we don't need his help or yours."

"Actually," Raven hauls in a shaking breath and a tear escapes her glassy eyes and rolls down her cheek even as she casts a weak smile in Nyko's direction. "I wouldn't say no to those herbs. No feeling peachy down here."

"Of course," Nyko goes to dig through his bag and Raven brushes at her cheek with her shoulder, eyes moving to Lexa as she says, the wry smile still playing at the edge of her lips.

"Bet you think I'm a pussy, huh Lexa?"

Lexa gives her a small, flickering smile that lasts no more than a few seconds even as she shakes her head. "You risked your life for me, you are a hero."

"Here," Nyko displays the small bag of herbs to Clarke for inspection and when she presses her nose inside she gets a strong waft of poppy seeds and several other things she can't place, coughing a little as she pulls it away. "Apologies, it's a little strong," Nyko looks back to the few men and women standing a respectful pace or so away. "We can take her somewhere warm and comfortable if you would like? I can administer the first dosage and instruct her on how to do it safely?"

Lexa gives a nods, but to Clarke's surprise Nyko's eyes move to her, lingering to wait for her response and she swallows, glancing down at Raven uncertainly before finally, reluctantly, nodding.

"Fine, but Octavia has to go with you."

Octavia's face is a mask of tight, controlled focus and she nods seriously, rising to watch as Nyko's assistants carefully shift Raven into their arms. Lexa stands as well and Clarke takes that as her cue to clamber up, brushing irritably at the mud that covers her pants. They watch in silence as Raven goes and Clarke gaze moves back to Archer's body, weeping blood into the dirt and she feels her fury rise like bile in the back of her throat as she turns back to Lexa again.

"You shouldn't have done that, he was not your subject and you had no right to kill him."

"He tried to attack our _Heda_ ," Indra puts in furiously from behind Lexa, but when Lexa raises a hand the woman cuts herself off abruptly.

Lexa is far calmer, but there is a sad sort of resignation to her words when she looks up to meet Clarke's eyes. "It is our way, Clarke. My people would have demanded a life for the attack on mine and this way was far quicker, far more painless."

"He lost a _daughter_ to this war," Clarke hisses and this time Indra cannot stop herself as she takes a threatening step closer.

"I lost a _son_."

"No more people should lose children over this matter." Lexa interrupts before either of them can say more and looks back to where Kane and Bellamy stand a few paces away. "Which is why I have a solution that involves no more bloodshed, if you would?" She indicates towards the two men and Clarke hesitates for a moment, looking from Lexa to Indra and back again before finally stepping away, taking quick steps in the direction of her people.

Lexa joins them at a more leisurely pace and Bellamy whispers hurriedly into Clarke's ear.

"Is Raven alright?"

She can only nod before Lexa is upon them once again and they look at each other for a moment, each group considering the other before Clarke snaps.

"What is your solution, then?"

Lexa bows her head slightly in acknowledgement and then begins, steady and calm. "I would propose that your people be free to leave this land and find somewhere new, where you can start again. I would be willing to let you all leave and give you time to gather the necessary supplies on three conditions."

"And what would these be?" Bellamy is grinding his teeth behind her, furiously and Lexa casts him a slightly scathing glance before she continues.

"Firstly, your slave trade is hereby disbanded. Any captured slaves will be freed and they may join us in going home. You are never to trade saves again." She pauses but there is no protest heard from any of the assembled, "secondly Lincoln will accompany you to your new land and provide me with regular updates on your progress. I will send scouts to check in with him every few months, in return you can expect help from my nations if you find it hard to tackle this coming winter in your new home. If any of my scouts report that he has experienced injury or mistreatment you can expect the full wrath of my clan to fall upon you. Finally," here her eyes dart to Clarke and she hesitates, her tongue going out to flicker over dry lips in a sparse moment of vulnerability before her mask slams back into place and she is nothing but ice and iron. "Clarke will lead you, assisted by whomever she feels fit."

"Heda-" Indra begins, but snaps her mouth shut when Lexa's fingers dart to the sword at her side.

"Clarke is nothing but a child!" Kane shakes his head in dismay, "she can't be expected to lead."

"Heda, with all due respect how do we know that the girl will lead well?" It is Gustus this time, though Indra is nodding ferociously along with him, her jaw so tight that Clarke feels it could fall off at any moment.

" _Shof op,_ Gustus, _wich in ai."_ Lexa snaps irritably and she has barely regained her composure when she turns back to them. "I trust that Clarke knows how to lead you. She is what you need for this new world, Marcus Kane, a young, strong mind which will help to form a nation. And as for _you_ ," she turns back to look at Gustus and Indra, "question Clarke's worthiness for this role at your own peril, I guarantee you that she will rule as we would like-"

The snarling growl that rumbles through the sky makes them all startle away, words falling silent. All but Clarke who throws her head back, searching the skies until she sees suddenly the flash of blue between the grey and suddenly there is Hlin, plummeting from the air as if her life depends upon it. She lands with a snarl and a flash of warning fire in the back of her throat, claws scrabbling in the dirt for purchase. Tyr takes a warning step forwards, growling lowly in his throat but at Lexa's upturned palm he quietens, allowing Hlin to catch her breath long enough to dart past them and towards where Clarke is standing. She manages a few steps away from their huddle before Hlin is upon them and she all but throws her arms around the dragon's neck, holding her so closely that she can feel the creature's hot breath down her back and across her neck.

Hlin squawks her greeting, grumbles in quiet content and when Clarke's arms finally loosen the dragon pulls away to nudge at her shoulder with her nose, squeaking and tapping until Clarke scratches at the top of her head, the soft patch of skin between her horns.

"I'm so happy to see you again," her words are broken, cracking and she chokes down the tears as her insides warm and she feels a golden glow inside of her.

The presence of another behind her finally draws her attention and she turns, almost unsurprised to see Lexa behind her. Hlin eyes her, tilting her head back and forth before whining softly and lowering her head just a little in Lexa's direction.

"Hlin, I am glad to see you returned." Lexa's smile is irritatingly genuine and full, Tyr lurking around behind her, eyeing up Hlin with suspicion.

"You brought her back to me?" She can't help but ask.

"No," Lexa smiles, reaching out behind her to hold out a hand for Tyr to snuffle into, rubbing it over his head and chin, "in fact her instinct would be to stay with the other dragons in the east. It was her loyalty to you that overcame that."

"How can you possibly expect our people to follow you _now_?" Kane is spluttering, shaking his head in disgust and she spins to face him swallowing heavily before drawing herself up to her full height and saying, as confidently as she can.

"Because I can lead us a new way. These animals aren't frightening, they are smart and intelligent and good," as if to prove it she reaches out to rub a hand over Hlin's nose, drawing a gentle grumble from the creature, "so they know that we fear them. If we lash out they will retaliate, we have to break this tie to the past just as we have to break our ties to slavery and who better to do that than somebody who is bonded with a dragon."

Kane is watching her, lips pursed and brows drawn together and she hesitates, mulling over her words before saying, succinctly.

"If we do not make peace with them the dragons will follow us until the ends of the earth until we are destroyed. Hlin offers not only an opportunity for understanding, but protection as well."

"The only way that I will accept this truce is if Clarke leads you," adds Lexa, her voice and eyes steely, frowning at Kane.

Kane turns, exasperated, to look to Bellamy for support but Bellamy's considering eyes settle on Clarke, lips pressed together in thought.

"I trust Clarke. And she'll have the help and advice of everyone on the council." He says at last.

"This isn't going to be a dictatorship," she assures him hurriedly, "please Kane look around you..." her hands stretch out, gesturing to the devastated remains of their home that are scattered around them. "We need something new more than ever; maybe a new leadership is a good way to start."

Surrounded as he is, people on every side in agreement, it is all Kane can do to sigh, quietly, and give one reluctant bob of his head. Relief flushes through Clarke like a wave and she feels her shoulders slump as she turns back to Lexa, who is pressing back a small smile, her voice sombre when she pronounces.

"Then I declare you and your people free to go, under the leadership of Clarke Griffin. My people and I shall rest here and see you on your way before returning to our homeland."

She turns to leave in a swirl of woven red material and dark braids, her entourage following swiftly behind her and Clarke has to reach out to touch at Hlin's nose for comfort, rubbing against the warm skin gently. When the creature lets out a soft, mournful whine Clarke wonders whether she can feel the ache in her heart and the tears stinging the edges of her eyes.

\----

Clarke is silhouetted by the setting sun. It paints the sky with splashes of colour, as carefree as a child and Lexa envies it for a moment, tries to think back to the last time she had felt completely free of responsibility and the crushing weight that slides further and further over her shoulders each passing day. The memory does not come easily, but her mind flashes back to the wind whipping at her cheeks and fingers, tangling through her hair like a lover's hand as she pressed her chin and front to Clarke's back, the warmth of the dragon beneath them.

Clarke is watching Hlin now, her eyes darting from the men and women loading supplies into the heavy ships that weigh anchor in their port to the flash of silver and blue in the ocean. Hlin is a decent fisher, she narrows her body and dives into the water with a flash of sunlight against her scales, soaring triumphantly back into the sky a few moments later to drop her catch at Clarke's feet eagerly, accepting her praise and affection with contented cooing.

Some of the Sky People eye her with caution and Lexa reaches out automatically to touch Tyr's flank behind her, rubbing her thumb over the warm skin thoughtfully. The dragon senses her unease and he leans forwards just slightly to butt his head against her shoulder, growling softly with worry.

"You should speak to her."

Anya’s voice does not startle her. The woman taught Lexa to listen for any sign of threat when she was no more than a child and such lessons don’t fade. Instead, she straightens her back and shakes her head, her eyes not leaving Clarke's dark figure by the water's edge.

"You are mistaken, she does not want to speak with me."

Anya steps up beside her and the green dragon that hovers behind her whines a soft greeting to Tyr, who bares his teeth until the creature bows her head, though she does not back away. Joro has been away from Anya long enough that Lexa knows even a show of aggression from the strongest dragon in their clan will not scare her away. Her loyalty is too strong, her fear of losing Anya again too great, but the two creatures have long had to become used to each others' company and so Tyr growls again, more quietly, before swinging his head away dismissively.

"Your guilt is misplaced, she is strong enough to do this. She may not know it yet, but she is."

Lexa flushes, a hot embarrassment rushing up into her cheeks. She is far too easy to read. "I do not feel guilty; I have great faith in Clarke's abilities."

"Then what is stopping you?" Anya challenges, turning to look at her more fully and Lexa feels abruptly young again, no more than Anya's second to be scolded for childish mistakes and failings.

"I have told you," she pushes the words out through gritted teeth, "she does not wish to speak with me, probably not ever again but certainly not now."

Anya observes her silently, lips pursing and Lexa's skin prickles under her gaze. Her eyes are focussed so firmly forwards that she can feel them begin to sting and water but when Anya speaks, ever so quietly, her stomach drops like lead.

"I didn't think you were a coward, Lexa."

"Respecting her boundaries is not cowardice," her voice wavers when she snaps at the woman, but Anya does her the courtesy of pretending not to notice, waiting until Lexa has regained her composure to suggest, calmly.

"You will never see her again once she leaves, this is your only chance to speak with her one last time."

The rolling weight of sadness that swings through her body feels as if it has lodged in her throat, a stopper for her tears and she can hear Tyr grumbling softly from behind her, snorting out hot bursts of air and clawing at the ground unhappily. "Do you think I don't know that? Do you think I haven't considered that every single hour since I realised what it is I must do?" Her words choke and splutter over one another, tumbling from her mouth before she can stop them and she draws a shaking breath, her eyes still fixed on the figure in front of them, stinging and blurring. "At best she never wants to see me again, at worst she wants me dead. Whatever we had... whatever we shared, she will always put her people first, just like me. It's why she's perfect for this role."

"All I hear are excuses," Anya's answer is quick and smooth, a hand coming to rest gently on her shoulder and when Lexa swings her eyes around to look at the woman her expression has softened into something close to tenderness, "ever since you were a child you've taken your duty seriously Lexa; I've always applauded you for it. But now you have to be selfish, just for a moment." The hand on her shoulder propels her forwards and she stumbles a few steps to stop herself from falling.

Tyr grunts loudly, pacing closer to her and snarling at Joro, though the dragon only growls in return and when Lexa turns to look Anya is only a small figure in the distance, Joro squawking and heaving herself up into the air to follow her rider.

The scuffle has caught Hlin's attention as she deposited her most recent catch at Clarke's feet and she snaps her teeth, growling and throwing her head warningly in Tyr's direction. The older dragon rears, preparing to slip into an offensive stance and Lexa hurries forwards to place a hand on his snout, calming him carefully with gentle touches and soft words. She can feel Clarke's eyes on her even before she hesitantly raises her eyes from the dragon and when she finds Clarke stood, one hand on Hlin's neck, eyes just edging their familiar softness, she feels her heart twinge painfully.

"My apologies," her voice is rough and she has to tear her gaze away to keep herself from saying anything she'll regret. Her tone is stilted and awkwardly formal and Lexa can feel her cheeks heating in response to her own foolishness, even as she ploughs blindly onwards. "He isn't normally so skittish, our time apart has made him more... wary."

"He's beautiful." The admittance feels pained, as if it has been torn from Clarke's chest and when Lexa chances a glance she finds Clarke's eyes darting away from her to rest on Tyr.

"You can... come closer if you want to?" Lexa's hands are trembling against Tyr's skin and she hastily pulls them back to clasp behind herself, hidden from view.

Clarke's eyes dance from her to her dragon and back again before she finally nods, hesitantly. She steps slowly closer, a hand held out just as Lexa had taught her and pauses, just out of Tyr's reach. The dragon observes her for a moment, tongue darting out to taste the air before his eyes swing to peer at Lexa questioningly. She doesn't move, can't bear to and so he looks back, unsatisfied, to scent the air around her again. Finally, after what feels like hours but is really only moments, the great beast lumbers forwards and ducks his snout into her waiting hand and Lexa hears Clarke's quiet gasp at the touch of the heat beneath his skin. Her people are watching them as well, keeping a respectful distance and Lexa knows that they will be exchanging glances, raising confused eyebrows at the spectacle in front of them, but she can't bring herself to care. The most important thing is Clarke, nothing but gently parted rosebud lips and widened blue eyes and tangled golden hair. She can feel Clarke's presence now, more fiercely than before and she knows that if she were to close her eyes and lose herself completely to the spirits of old that fill her to the brim she would be able to feel Clarke's hand as if it were against her own skin. The temptation is strong, the pull tugging at her stomach with abandon to simply feel Clarke's touch for one last time but she fights it away and instead focuses on the girl before her, watching as she strokes gently along Tyr's nose.

He watches her with burning golden eyes, studying her every move and as her hand slips beneath his jaw Lexa steps forward hurriedly to warn her of his sharp teeth and tendency to snap at anyone who ventures the wrong way, but the dragon goes abruptly limp in Clarke's arms. He croons suddenly and his eyes flicker shut and Lexa realises with a start that Clarke has managed to find the sweet spot beneath his chin that reduces him to a hatchling.

Clarke's laughter is soft and miraculous and Lexa blinks at her in surprise, struggling to swallow down the flood of emotions that accompanies the sound. Clarke is beaming at the dragon, her eyes light with excitement that feels so young and tender and when she speaks it is with a lilting, teasing tone of affection.

"You're just a big baby, aren't you? There's nothing scary about you."

"Don't say that too loudly," Lexa warns, weakly and when Clarke's eyes flicker up to her, widening as if she'd forgotten she was there and then abruptly hardening, she curses herself. "I just mean," she hurries to amend her own words. "He has a reputation to uphold, don't you?" She brushes a touch up along Tyr's neck and Clarke quickly tears her hand away, as if she can't bear to be so close to Lexa.

"Well, hiding behind a mask can be easier for some people." Her voice is suddenly cold and harsh, but Lexa accepts the dig without comment, looking to where Hlin lingers nervously behind Clarke.

Tyr's attention is also caught by the dragon and he rumbles out a pleasant greeting even as the younger dragon cautiously approaches. They watch each other carefully, communicating in a gentle exchange of noises and growls, bobbing their heads a little and it's only when she hears her speak that Lexa realises Clarke has moved closer to her.

"Are they alright? He won't attack her?" She sounds anxious and panicked and Lexa is happy to bring her relief.

"No, watch them, they're friendly with one another."

As if to prove her point the two dragons rumble at each other one more time before Hlin spreads her wings and takes off towards the open sea again and Tyr wanders back in Lexa's direction to watch her with curious, ever steady glowing eyes.

Clarke turns away to watch Hlin go and Lexa hesitates for a moment, struggling with her choice until she finally fills the gap beside the girl, eyes fixed out on the horizon even as she speaks.

"How is your mother, Clarke?" The words seem to fall with a heavy weight between them, this is no longer the fragile, casual exchange they were exchanging earlier, it is fraught with meaning and power and Lexa waits patiently for a response.

"Better." She replies at last, almost reluctant. "Because you sent me back to her." Her eyes wander up to chance a glance at Lexa's face. "I suppose I should thank you for that."

"No," though quiet, her words are sad and sincere. "You owe me nothing at all, Clarke Griffin."

They are silent for a second, considering their options as the sun sinks slowly in the sky before them.

At last it is Clarke who cracks, "do you remember flying with me?"

"You think it is something I could easily forget?"

"I wasn't _that_ bad," the gentle teasing seems to escape her before she can think about it and Lexa allows a soft smile to touch at the corners of her mouth even as Clarke presses her lips together, as if regretting her words.

"Because it was beautiful," she corrects her after a moment, voice soft. "I believe there isn't a moment with you that I could forget, Clarke Griffin."

Clarke's eyes flicker shut, her hands clenching together in front of her body as she draws in a shaky breath and when she finally peels her eyes open again they sparkle with unshed tears. "It would be a lot easier to hate you if you wouldn't say shit like that, you know."

"Apologies," she says again, fighting the sad smile that threatens at once to crease up her lips and release the cork in her throat. "You have to know, Clarke, I never meant to deceive you."

"Of course you did," Clarke cuts through her words with a sharp exaltation of anger, snapping fiercely in her direction.

"You're right," she corrects herself with a sigh, "I did mean to deceive you. But you were never any part of this Clarke, you were..." she struggles for the words, "an unlucky accident, though I would never reverse our time together. It's just unfortunate that the girl I love is so out of my reach."

Clarke swallows heavily, reaching up to brush at her cheeks with rough fingers, "the girl you love?" She echoes, quietly.

"You think that isn't true?" A dry, despairing breath of laughter escapes her, "I can't blame you. But the part of me that loves you is not the same part of me that must care for my people, Clarke and my duty to them... it always has to come first. I don't know how to explain this to you, your culture is so different," Lexa runs a tired, weary hand through her hair, rubbing at the headache that thrums between her eyes. "You are... _parta kom ai keyron_."

"You've always made it clear that your people come first," Clarke's eyes are fixed on the horizon, but they move with her words down to where the Sky People are loading the last of their items into their ships and she hesitates, swallowing. "That's how I'm going to have to be, aren't I? I'm going to lose myself to them."

"You could," she confesses, honestly, "but they could also become a part of you Clarke, they could strengthen you. You will not shoulder their burden alone, you have the help of Kane and Bellamy, and your mother when she recovers. Keep them close. The ones you love can easily be taken from you."

"What about the ones you love?" Clarke's gaze finally settles on her, curious despite herself. “Are they waiting for you at home?"

"No, there is no one else." Her voice is worn with exhaustion and sadness, "the people that I love become targets, it is safer this way."

Clarke's brows crease with despair and desperation, shaking her head, "Lexa... you live as a _slave_ to your people. You aren't allowed to love for them? That's ridiculous and moreover it's _cowardice_."

"If cowardice keeps the people I love safe then I will accept it." Lexa responds, stonily.

"Cowardice keeps the people who love you heart broken, trust me."

“Can you even imagine what it’s like?” She turns to look at the blonde, torn between desperation and rage, “I put everyone I love at risk everyday simply by _being_. It is better that I am alone, emotions cloud judgement and-”

“All I hear is fear Lexa,” Clarke interrupts her sharply.

“You are new to this life,” she can’t stand to look at the girl when she speaks, “when you have been a leader for as long as I have you will understand the risks, the enemies that you create.”

“You’re wrong,” Clarke reaches out and grabs at her arm and though the touch is by no means gentle or tender, she still feels herself tremble, allowing the girl to pull her around, dragging her eyes over to meet Clarke’s. “And you’re not who I thought you were Lexa.”

“I have already explained-”

“No, not _that_ ,” Clarke rolls her eyes, a bitter, wry smile twisting her lips. “Although that is not ideal. I mean… no matter who you actually _are_ Lexa, whatever name you call yourself, you always seemed _brave_ to me.”

“I fear you’re right about one thing,” her voice is soft, unable to meet Clarke’s gaze, “I am far too afraid to allow myself to lose you Clarke.”

“Then… _don’t_ .” At her words Lexa forces her eyes up, her brows creasing in surprise and Clarke sighs very quietly, but continues, “this isn’t forgiveness…” her eyes soften, seemingly despite herself and Lexa tries to steel herself, tries to fight against the creak of her aching heart and the pull of her fingers to embrace when Clarke’s eyes dart up to the sky, blinking rapidly and Lexa spots the sheen of tears over them. Clarke pulls in a ragged breath, halting and fragmented like silk pulled across thorns, “I’m not even sure I can… ever give that to you. It’s not even understanding because I don’t- _can’t_ \- understand what’s happened yet. But…” her eyes finally meet Lexa’s and she swallows again, a inconceivable smile lifting at her lips as her hand on Lexa’s arm drifts upwards, fingertips brushing at Lexa’s neck, her cheek. “You’re still the girl I knew. I can see her there… beneath _this_.” Her thumb brushes against the war paint strewn around Lexa’s eyes and she wrinkles her nose in distaste even as Lexa lets out a quiet, tearful laugh.

“I wish I could be that girl for you Clarke.” It’s barely a breath, a whisper of a wistful sigh, but Clarke hears her and Lexa can hardly breathe when she edges just slightly closer until they are just inches apart.

“I don’t. That girl was a lie, Lexa.” The hand on her cheek tightens just a little, but when a tear escapes Lexa’s eye and trails downwards it loosens again to brush it away. “But this… image, this Commander person isn’t you either. I know that much. So maybe… someday… I’ll get a chance to meet the person in between.”

“I’m not sure that there is another person.” Her brows twist, her heart constricting painfully but Clarke just shakes her head.

“There is, I know it. She’s right…” her other hand reaches out to clasp Lexa’s and she brings their intertwined fingers up to rest over where Lexa’s battered heart thumps quickly beneath her armour, “here.”

Impulsively, her tears corking her throat, Lexa leans forward to brush a kiss to Clarke’s cheek and feels her stomach twist when the girl jerks away from the touch, tearing her hands away from Lexa’s body and looking at her with hardened eyes when she shakes her head.

“No. Not yet.”

“Of course,” ashamed, she folds her hands back together behind her back, stepping a courteous step away and willing her shaking legs to keep her upright for just a moment or so more. “I’m sorry, that was wrong of me.”

Clarke takes a shuddering breath and when she looks at her again her eyes have softened once more. “You have to understand why. You have to.”

“I do,” she bows her head, considering her words for a long moment before gathering the remnants of her courage and meeting Clarke’s curious gaze as she speaks. “I will not apologise for what I did, Clarke, you should never expect me to. I _have_ to put my people first, always. But my greatest regret will forever be that this cost me you.”

Clarke is silent for a moment and Lexa takes the brief respite to look at her, bruised and battered, cuts to her face and hands, hair dirty and matted and yet so impossibly beautiful. Hlin, she realises belatedly, has landed behind her and is watching them closely and Tyr’s heat feels closer than she expected, somewhere at her back. The sun is still setting, an impossible feat when Lexa considers the centuries that seem to have passed since they began this conversation and it casts them in its gentle light as if soothing the land torn apart and drenched in blood below it.

“I will try to understand,” she promises, at last, “there… is a part of me that still feels for you. A part I can’t ignore. But it will take time Lexa.” She clears her throat, brushing impatiently at the tears spilling down her cheeks, “until then, I hope you will grace us with a visit at some point in the future, Commander?”

“The moment you send word,” Lexa nods and when Clarke extends a hand she grasps her fingers, as she has seen the Sky People do before.

They stand frozen for just a moment too long, hesitating, their hands still clasped together.

“I look forward to it.” Clarke’s words are gentle, soft as a whisper and Lexa wonders whether she imagines the fingers tightening around hers just briefly, squeezing as if she doesn’t want to let go, before Clarke pulls away and turns to move towards Hlin.

Lexa watches and something settles in her stomach, not contentment or happiness but something as close to it as she feels she can get while she watches Clarke swing herself up and onto the creature’s back. Clarke leans forward, spread hands resting on the creature’s neck and when she tilts her head towards Hlin’s Lexa can’t help but rush a few stumbling steps forwards.

“Clarke!”

The girl hesitates, turning slowly to look at her and the tears streaming down her cheeks are almost too painful to look at.

“I… I…” she fumbles, pauses for just a moment too long and her courage fails her, “I believe you will be a great leader. I have faith in you.”

She sees Clarke swallow, watches the hard set of her jaw. “Thank you, Commander.”

Behind her Tyr growls restlessly and the snout at Lexa’s back pushes her forwards the few more steps until she is close enough to bump into Hlin’s side, almost falling before a hand reaches out to grasp hers and steady her.

When she looks up, Clarke is almost smiling, the sadness shining in her eyes as brightly as torches and she can’t stop herself from keeping her hold on the girl’s hand even after she is safe on her feet.

“ _Ai hod yu in_ , Clarke. Always.” The words trip off her tongue and when she sees Clarke’s eyes shut painfully she hurries to continue, “don’t. Don’t say it back. I won’t believe you. I just… need to tell you. It wasn’t all a lie. I do love you.” It’s agonisingly awkward and she pulls herself away from the limp hands in hers, unable to stop the heaving, panicked breaths and the tears blurring her vision, her breathing so loud in her ears that she almost misses it when Clarke replies.

“I know.”

“What?” She turns mid-step, hesitating to peer back through watery eyes.

“I said-” Clarke’s voice cracks and she swallows as Hlin whines beneath her, “I know, Lexa.”

Before she can speak Hlin’s wings stretch outwards and she pushes off from the ground, Clarke’s hands grabbing at her scales, face buried into her neck as they soar into the sky. For a moment it’s all she sees, the watercolour sky and shining blue scales, blonde hair and the echo of a voice from too far away and then they are nothing more than a dark spot in the clouds. She watches until the spot is gone, the sun drying the tears on her cheeks and sniffs once when Tyr’s head nuzzles beneath her arm, touching his tongue and snout to her hand anxiously. In the quiet, she reaches out a hand to rub his warm, familiar scales and feels the hot weight of him curl around her, his body to her back and his tail curling around in front of her feet.

“Enough,” she says, softly and the dragon tilts his head in interest, “for now, that’s enough.”

It will have to be.

_Fin_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there will be an epilogue!


End file.
